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artzychic27 · 3 years

Note

Artist Family 1991 movie?

All is more sullen than usual for the Artists. It’s the third anniversary of Rose’s disappearance

Juleka: *Solemnly staring at Rose’s empty room* Think of it That. For years we’ve attempted to contact Rose in the Great Beyond. And for years… Nothing.

Ever since Rose’s disappearance, Juleka has been looking through her spell books for other ways to contact her, but just can seem to find anything

For Marinette, she tries to cope the only way she knows how… Through torture.

Alix: *Tied up: Screaming through her binds*

Marinette: *Aiming an arrow at Alix* Don’t be a baby. I know what I’m doing.

Marc is more unhappy than usual… And it gets Nathaniel in the mood.

Nathaniel: *Watching Marc sleep* Look at him. I would die for him. I would kill for him… Either way, what bliss. *Marc wakes up* Unhappy, darling?

Marc: Oh, yes. Yes, completely. Nathan... The sun. Me atraviesa como un puñal.

Nathaniel: Oh, monochrome. That's Spanish.

Marc: Si.

Nathaniel: *Grabs a bucket of black paint and splatters it all over the window*

Marc: Mi amor... Last night, you were unhinged. You were like some desperate howling demon. You frightened me… Do it again.

Also, their neighbor, a well-respected judge, hates them because Marinette can’t keep her flaming arrows on the Artists’ property. Why does this matter? You’ll soon see.

Nathaniel: *Playing chess with Juleka while Marc snips the buds off of roses* It’s a milestone, Marc. It’ll be our third séance. All those years, gnawed by guilt, undone by woe, burning with uncertainty.

Marc: Nathaniel, don’t torture yourself… That’s my job around here. But, imagine if Rose did return. Half alive, barley human, a rotting shell.

Juleka: *Sighs* That’d be a sight.

Unbeknownst to everyone (Except Félix), Juleka has a crush on Rose.

Later, the Artists’ lawyer, Cecil and his wife Bridgette arrive to ask for a loan. (Wow. Asking for a loan from teenagers? Yeesh.) Why? Because they owe a loan shark.

Bridgette: Why did I marry you?

Cecil: Because I said yes!

While Cecil tries to work out a deal with Nathaniel, Bridgette collects expensive looking items for a charity auction from Juleka, Marc, and Félix

Marc: *As Félix pulls body bags out of a closet* Uncle Niknak's winter wardrobe. Uncle Niknak's summer wardrobe… Uncle Niknak.

Nathaniel: ‘The Rose Artist Off-Shore Retirement Fund’?… A tribute to thee. Some called her inhumanly evil.

Cecil: No!

Nathaniel: Only her parents before she fled her home.

And they make a deal… But…

Nathaniel: It’s going to have to wait, you know the rules better than that. Old business is old business and new business is new business. And this is new business and we do not discuss new business until… The next quarter.

After an unsuccessful attempt at stabbing Nathaniel with one of the many swords in the house, Cecil gives up until Nathaniel mentions going to get money for the monthly expenses from the vault

Meanwhile, Marc shows Bridgette a golden finger trap from the court of Emperor Wu

Bridgette: *Trying to not pocket it and run off* Oh, Marc, this is too extravagant, even for the auction.

Juleka: Let’s keep it.

Marc: Juleka, it’s for charity. *Bridgette gets her fingers trapped* Widows and orphans. We need more of them… Bridgette, about the séance tonight, why don’t you come? It's Nathaniel I'm terribly worried about. He won't eat, he can't sleep, he keeps coughing up blood.

Bridgette: He coughs up blood?

Marc: Well, not like he used to...

Cecil returns to his office with a suitcase full of doubloons from the Artists’ account, no knowledge of how to get the vault open, and in his office is Ms. Craven, a loan shark and her familiar-looking daughter, Willow

After some intimidation from Willow, Cecil gets an idea of how to repay Ms. Craven the money he owes her when he sees how similar she looks to Rose

There’s thunder and lightning on the night of the séance. Perfect weather

Marc: Marinette, Alix, put down that antenna, and come inside.

With their plan in place, Cecil and Bridgette arrive

Bridgette: *Shows Marinette the finger trap still on her fingers* Could you help me? *Marinette removes it with ease*

Marinette: Push, do not pull.

Marc: *With everyone seated around the table for the séance* Harken all souls. Every year on this date, we offer a clarion call to Rose Artist… Alix, drop the cleaver.

Marinette: *Sees Alix aiming the cleaver at her* Stop it.

Marc: From generation to generation, our beacon to the beyond. All close eyes and join hands.

After a practical joke on Bridgette involving That, the séance continues.

Marinette: Let us ransom you from the power of the grave. Tonight, oh Death, let us be your plague.

Juleka: Rose Artist, ceoli couris, ferimani bo… She’s near. *Félix plays a dramatic sting on his organ* Rose! Gather your strength! And knock three times! *One knock… Two… Three*

Nathaniel: She’s at the door!

That quickly goes to unlock the front door. And there, much to the Artists’ disbelief and joy is Rose… Or so they think. And there with her is Ms. Craven, posing as a psychiatrist named Dr. Schloss

Ms. Craven makes up some story about how “Rose” was found in Miami, tangled up in a tuna net. There were psychological tests, and a bunch of crap.

Nathaniel: And now she’s back.

Rose: At least for a week. I’ve got things to do back at the Bermuda Triangle.

Marc: *Sighs* Oh, the Bermuda Triangle./ Nathaniel: The Devil’s Island./ Marc: The Black Hole of Calcutta

Nathaniel: Pardon me for a moment. *Kisses up and down Marc’s arm* Our fifth date.

Marinette: No one escapes the Bermuda Triangle. Not even for a vacation. Everyone knows that.

Any attempts Willow tries at getting a good night’s sleep, it doesn’t work because The floors are constantly creaking, Marinette and Alix keep staring at her from down the hall, and That keep sneaking up on her which causes her to scream.

Nathaniel: … My dear friend. I’ve got goosebumps./ Marc: I know./ Nathaniel: Screams in the night. It can only mean one thing./ Marc: She’s home.

The next morning, Marinette and Alix suspect something is up with “Rose”. Meanwhile, Nathaniel takes “Rose” to the vault

Alix: *As Marinette warms up the electric chair* Do you think that’s really Rose?

Marinette: Nathaniel and Juleka seem to think so. But I think Marc isn’t sure. Now let’s a play a game. Sit in the chair.

Alix: What game?

Marinette: ‘Want to meet God?’

And Nathaniel does take Rose down to the vault, via gondola in the catacombs of the Artist home, only this vault leads to a secret room… That also leads to the money vault when a certain vial of poison is lifted

During that time, while they’re down there, Nathaniel reveals to “Rose” that his jealousy over her catching the attention of conjoined twins Ali and Eli drove her off

~Meanwhile~ Alix: So, if that’s not Rose, then who is she?

Marinette: An imposter. Now give the chair a few more seconds to warm up./ Alix: Why?/ Marinette: So it Can kill you./ Alix: I knew that.

~Later at the charity auction ~

Auctioneer: *Presenting the finger trap on Bridgette’s fingers again* This piece is encrusted with rubies and 15 emerald chips. It was donated by Marc and Nathaniel Artist. Remember, over half our proceeds will benefit the elderly and the mentally disabled. The bidding starts at $5000.

Nathaniel: Five, hah! Not good enough. $25,000!

Auctioneer: I have twenty.

Nathaniel: Twenty-five! *To Marc* Meyn Ziskeyt?

Auctioneer: Twenty five.

Marc: Thirty. *To Nathaniel* My howling demon.

Nathaniel: *voice cracks* Thirty-five!

Marc: Fifty!

Auctioneer: I have $50,000.

Marc: Your turn, my ecstasy.

Auctioneer: Fifty thousand going once, fifty thousand going twice. Sold to Marc Artists for fifty thousand dollars. *looks disgusted as Marc and Nathaniel obscenely make out*

They bought it back as a gift for “Rose”, but… She doesn’t know how to take it off! The Artists are now starting believe that she really is an imposter

Marc attempts to break “Rose” and get her to confess by taking her to the Artists’ cemetery where he reminds her of the credo

Marc: "Sic gorgiamus allos subjectatos nunc." "We gladly feast on those who would subdue us." Not just pretty words… Rose. As an Artist, you understand completely.

“Rose”: … As an Artist, I do.

Seeing that everyone’s onto her, Willow calls Ms. Craven and has her pose as the psychiatrist to try and make the Artists none the wiser

Marc: Nathaniel, Juleka, why don’t you speak to Rose? She’s right outside the door.

Juleka: We would… If that were the real Rose.

Nathaniel: She’s an imposter! A charlatan! A sham! A counterfeit!

While wandering around the home, Rose sees Marinette and Alix sword fighting and practicing lines for something.

Ms. Craven successfully convinces the Artists that their reason for suspecting “Rose” is an imposter is due to displacement, and meanwhile, Rose helps Marinette and Alix out with their sword fighting scene for a play they’re in at school. A play she’s not allowed to attend but goes to anyway

Just a few minutes before the play, Mme. Bustier, asks Marc a question about Marinette.

Mme. Bustier: Now, the students did projects on their heroes. Alya Cesaire chose Lois Lane.

Marc: Have you spoken to her parents?

Mme. Bustier: And Marinette did her project on someone named Calpurnia Dupain.

Marc: Oh, her great aunt on her father’s side. She was burned as a witch in 1706. They say she danced naked in town square and enslaved a minister. *Unaware of Mme. Bustier’s horror.* Don’t worry, we told her university first.

And after so many horrible performances, comes the best one yet… Where Marinette and Alix splatter fake blood all over the audience.

Nino: … I suggested a evening in the park, but no. You wanted to see the performances.

Alya: *Spits out fake blood* Shut up.

Furious that her plans to get into the vault have failed since “Rose” decided to go to the play, Ms. Craven insists that “Rose” must leave again… But not before the Artists mark the occasion with a going away party where the entire Artist clan is invited.

Marc: *To Marinette who is dancing with Luka* Marinette, would you go check on Rose upstairs, please?

Marinette leaves (Not before kissing Luka) and overhears Willow and Ms. Craven going over their plan to break into the vault. She quickly runs to go get help.

Meanwhile, Cecil figures out a way to get rid of the Artists for good. And here’s where the judge comes in- He gets a restraining order agasint them so they can’t set foot on their property

After the party, the Artist family tries to find Marinette when they realize that she’s gone missing. But when they return with her, they find that they can’t get inside their own home. And when they attempt to appeal to the judge, he sends them away out of spite.

The Artists are now living in a motel. Nathaniel is in a state of depression knowing they’ve been betrayed, and Marc is just trying to keep Juleka, Marinette, and Alix from going crazy… Er.

Also, he gets a job as a kindergarten teacher’s assistant. Let’s see how that turns out.

Marc: And so the witch lured Hansel and Gretel into the candy house by promising them more sweets. And she told them to look in the oven. But, before she herself could push the children inside, Hansel pushed her, that poor defenseless elderly witch into the oven instead and burned her to a crisp as she writhed in agony… Now children. How do you think that feels? *The children cry* … Exactly.

That gets a job as a courier, and Marinette, Juleka, and Alix sell poison macarons.

Not able to stand the sight of his family in such a state, Marc returns to the Artists home to confront “Rose” only to be captured by Ms. Craven and Cecil. And unknown to Marc, That followed him.

Craven, Cecil, and Willow torture Marc so he can tell them how to access the vault means of torture, but he’s a total masochist and is loving every second of it

That returns to the motel and- through Morse code- tells the Artists that Marc’s been captured

Nathaniel: Mar... Marc... Marc? Marc is what? Slow down, That! It's terrible when you stutter!

*That starts tapping in Morse Code with a pen*

Nathaniel: Marc... in... danger... stop. Send... help... at once... STOP! *He runs out. That collapses*

Nathaniel arrives just before they can try and kill Marc, and engages in a sword fight with Cecil, which he gains the upper hand on, then loses when Ms. Craven has Marc at gun point. She forces him to show Willow the vault or she shoots Marc if they’re not back in an hour

Before Nathaniel can pull out the book that activates the secret door on the shelf, Willow pulls out a different book- A spellbook that projects It’s contents into reality and creates a storm. A bolt of lightning strikes Willow and launches Cecil and Craven out the window and into graves dug by Marinette, Alix, and Juleka

Alix: Are they dead?

Marinette: Does it matter?

Months later on Halloween, it’s revealed that Willow has been Rose all this time, and the story about the tuna net and the Bermuda Triangle were true. She just suffered from amnesia

Bridgette: *To Marinette* Dear, where’s your costume.

Marinette: This is my costume. I’m a homicidal maniac; they look just like everyone else.

While the others play a good game of ‘Wake The Dead’ Marc and Nathaniel stay behind because Marc has something to tell him.

Nathaniel: Monochrome, what is it?

Marc: I finally received a letter from my mothers, and… *Shows him an ultrasound photo* They said if it’s anything like me, they want us to have it.

Sequel

#miraculous ladybug #marc x nathaniel #nathaniel kurtzberg #marc anciel #marinette dupain cheng #alix kubdel #rose lavillant #juleka couffaine #félix graham de vanily #the addams family #addams family au #the artist family

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atomic-taco-muffin · 3 years

Text

The Legend of Hana Part 32

Warnings: Angst? I mean, it’s Kingdom Hearts. There’s gonna be a lot of angst here

Rating: SFW

Xion and the twins had arrived at Beast’s Castle and they walked around, searching for the imposter.

“The way Saïx glares at me with disgust, it’s like he’s treating me like an object,” Xion said.

“Eh, don’t pay attention to him. He’s a jerk off,” Roxy said.

“But he’s also our uncle, Roxy,” Yui said.

“That doesn’t mean that he can treat someone else like a puppet!”

“Oh well...him and me are Nobodies, we’re not really a ‘person’ so to speak...besides, I don’t have any memories of when I was a person.” The twins looked at her with a saddened expression at her words.

“Well, we promise to help you find your memories,” Yui said.

“Hell yeah!” Roxy agreed. Xion smiled and looked at the twins.

“Thank you,” she said.

“It’s what family is for,” Yui replied. Roxy nodded in agreement and the three of them headed inside the castle.

The three girls walked down the halls of the castle and remembered what the poster said about the imposter.

Beware the appearance of the imposter!

The information gathered from eyewitnesses suggest that there is an Organization imposter donned in our coats. He has been sighted in multiple worlds, you are to ambush him and subdue him...

“I’d say we split up. We’ll cover more ground that way,” Yui said.

“But what if the imposter shows up and we’re not there?” Xion asked.

“I’ll send a signal and distract them long enough for you two to arrive.” The two girls nodded and they all went their separate ways. Yui walked down one of the halls, and she was suddenly ambushed by none other than the imposter. She quickly sent the signal and fought the imposter to the best of her ability.

“Do you not resent me? It looks like I can’t leave that guy’s Nobody here now...” the imposter said. Yui growled and attacked him again, knocking their hood down, revealing a boy with a blindfold. Yui pinned down the imposter and smirked.

“Looks like I finally caught the imposter,” she said.

“Nice try,” the imposter replied.

“Huh?” Yui yelped as she was suddenly pinned down by the imposter. “Let me go!”

“Why are there so many kids working for the Organization?” the imposter asked.

“I’m about the same age as you. Besides, it’s rude to do this to a princess.”

“A princess?” the imposter scoffed. “Yeah right.”

“Grr, just let me go!” Yui tried to squirm out of his grip but it was too strong.

“I do that and you’ll just attack me again. So, why would I want to do that?” he said. Yui scoffed and continued to try and get out of his grip. “Why are you working for them?!”

“Like I’ll ever tell you!” The imposter was suddenly attacked, releasing his grip on Yui.

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM MY SISTER, MOTHERFUCKER!” Yui looked behind her and saw Roxy and Xion running up to her.

“What the hell?” the imposter asked himself. Upon seeing the imposter, Xion felt something in her. He looked really familiar. Who was he?

What?! Just now...do I know this person?!

“Xion!” Xion snapped out of her thoughts when she saw Yui blocking the imposter’s attack. The three girls continued to attack the imposter but he was stronger than the three of them, knocking them down. Xion groaned as the imposter walked up to her.

“You’re coming with me now,” he said as he took Xion’s hood off. He lifted his blindfold just a bit and looked at her before putting it back in place. “Your face...who are your really?! Why do you have a Keyblade?!”

“What about you, tell me first...why you are dressed like one of us...what is it you’re trying to achieve...” Xion said.

“My intention was be followed, and in turn allowed me to hunt down the pursuer...”

“That’s my line...” The imposter looked at her and scoffed.

“You don’t know anything. I don’t know who you’re supposed to be...but I won’t be defeated by a fake and children.”

“Fake...?”

“CHILDREN?!” the twins shrieked. The imposter ignored the twins and focused on Xion.

“I can feel it...this Keyblade is a sham...worthless...” he said as he threw Xion’s Keyblade in front of her.

“Hey, no one calls our aunt worthless!” Roxy said. She ran up to attack him but he pushed her away.

“My Keyblade is not a sham,” Xion said as she thought back to all of the times she’s used it. “WHAT GIVES YOU THE RIGHT TO SAY THAT?!”

I’ll show you who doesn’t know anything!

Xion grabbed her Keyblade and charged at the imposter but he easily knocked it away with his. He walked away as Xion fell to her knees.

“But...why?” she asked.

“Find a new crowd, trust me. Those guys are bad news,” the imposter said. The twins quickly got up and ran to check on Xion.

☽✧☽✧

Back at the Castle That Never Was, Yui was thinking about that imposter and what he said. She could still feel his grip on her. The harsh words that came out of his mouth. Was he right? She put those thoughts away and went back to bed.

#hana imagines #hana kingdom hearts #hana kh #hana #kingdom hearts #kingdomhearts #kingdom hearts imagine #kingdom hearts imagines #kingdom hearts oc #kingdom hearts original character #kingdomhearts imagines #kingdomhearts imagine #kingdomhearts oc #kingdomhearts original character #kh ocs #kh oc #kh original character #kh original characters

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littlestarlost · 4 years

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what happened.

All this hunger is Always following us Out where we survive under poisonous skies They’re dreaming, but nobody’s sleeping Just coked hearts speeding See all the gold teeth gleaming See all the young, healthy free men Just move into nothing

(CW: discussion of mental health, trauma, PTSD)

A version of this post has been sitting in my drafts folder for ten months. I know this, because I originally began to write it around late January, just in time for the one-year mark to have passed since I’d last updated Setting Sun. When I posted that most recent update, I had just turned 30 years old, and I promised that it would not be another year before the next update. I wanted, so badly, for that to be true. In hindsight, it’s honestly better that I failed to keep that promise; I fear it might have exacerbated the damage that’s already been done, and made the healing process that much harder.

It’s been nearly two years. I want to talk about what happened.

I first began to write about Yuuri Katsuki and Victor Nikiforov because I recognized myself so keenly in them; Yuuri’s high-achieving anxiety and imposter syndrome, and Victor’s quietly functional depression. When I found YOI, I was in grad school; I was winning awards, the top of my class, and utterly terrified that it was all a sham. Being able to channel those emotions through these characters helped me realize my own greatness, to embody it and walk with confidence and bravado. It allowed me to go into my post-degree job search with my head held high, trusting that all the lessons I had learned would lead me to professional success. Yuuri and Victor walked through life with me, two shadows of my own psyche, two people who helped me understand myself.

The first few months of the job were fine. Then things became less than fine, and then continued to descend into the kind of mundane nightmare that only multinational corporate legal firms could manifest. Setting Sun, a story about love and self-acceptance and joy, began to twist around in on itself. I don’t want to go into detail, but suffice to say that I spent nearly two years being gaslit and abused, told I was worthless, constantly having panic attacks as I desperately tried to exert control over things that were way over my head. My body betrayed me; I was in so much pain I couldn’t walk, so stressed I couldn’t bring myself to eat unless I’d smoked weed to calm the nausea. I began to believe that I had peaked in grad school, that I was fooling myself, that I was going to be trapped in that cubicle for the rest of my life, doing grunt work without challenge or interest, in the kind of workplace where you get reported to HR for sighing too loudly. That is a thing that actually fucking happened to me; nobody asked why I might be sighing, and nobody stopped by to check in when I spent most days in tears. This was a place where less than half the people in the room put up their hands when asked if they had ever been creative as kids. This was a place where I almost never got to see the sun.

Because I was massively overqualified and even more massively underworked, I spent a lot of 2018 writing fanfic--my zine pieces, my zutara pieces, all sorts of creative things. I also began to write horror AUs; two stories, in particular, gained a fair amount of traction on this particular platform. When I look back now, I see them for the coping mechanisms that they were; in the case of the crossroads AU, where Yuuri is willing to sell his soul to the devil just to escape his commute, it wasn’t even particularly subtle. I poured all my energy into creative pursuits; it’s been my outlet my whole life, and for a while it helped. By the time I hit the SCP-9874 AU, I burned out so profoundly and utterly that it destroyed my relationship to YOI and cauterized the pieces. SCP-9874 was one of the most creative things I’ve ever done, but it also involved what is, in hindsight, a shocking level of violence and horror inflicted on these characters who were such a close part of me. I was doing this to them because I was hurting, all the time. I now recognize it as the cry for help that it was, and to this day I fantasize about taking down all the SCP-9874 posts and excising that portion of my legacy as much as possible.

I wrote Setting Sun’s 21st chapter in honour of my 30th birthday, in late January of 2019. Somehow, at the time, I didn’t realize how rough it was. How much it implied about me and how I was doing. How much it reflected the true extent of the damage I was suffering. I left Victor and Yuuri in an abandoned apartment with more questions than answers and more regrets than they or I had ever thought possible, and I thought, somehow, that this was a good turning point. Little did I know at the time that the worst was still to come.

I was able to finally escape that toxic office last October, when I found a new job that paid nearly double and was everything I wanted to do in life and more. But Yuri on Ice hurt too much to think about, even as time marched forward and I began to heal. I had PTSD flashbacks to the old office; I dealt with echo upon echo of terror that everything would fall away to reveal I was trapped in the same old nightmare again. In January 2020, I actually took a few days off for my birthday and reread Setting Sun from the beginning, and I’d somehow forgotten how funny it is, how sweet it is, how hopeful. I had completely forgotten; it had been burned away by twenty months of agony. That realization hurt more than all the other ones put together, I think. I had a good long cry over that.

Fast forward to now, and people have started to find Setting Sun again. They’ve found it on and off in the months since I updated, and for a very long time I would read the truly lovely comments people wrote--thanking me for writing it, hoping I’d come back someday, wishing me well wherever I was--and I would dissolve into tears because I just...couldn’t. I couldn’t bear to go back to this story that I could no longer recognize myself in. And nowadays, when new commenters come, I will warn them about that last chapter I wrote, because I can recognize it as the outlier it is.

But something has very recently changed.

I couldn’t necessarily tell you exactly what. Maybe it’s that I passed the one-year mark at my new job, and the last of the poison has finally been excised. Maybe it’s because I’m looking at all my writing with new eyes as I prepare to try doing this for a living. Maybe it’s because it’s 2020, and the rules aren’t really relevant anymore. I don’t know. But I can say that, two weekends ago, I opened Setting Sun, and realized that it didn’t seem impossible anymore. I realized that the boys had been through more than enough. We’ve been through more than enough. We deserve the happy ending I always planned to give them, going back four whole years when I first planned out this massive weird tale.

It’s been a very long time. It’s been exactly long enough.

I can’t promise exactly when the final chapter of Setting Sun will arrive. I’m walking back onto previously thin ice, and my footsteps are more than a little hesitant, so as not to cause any undue cracks. But I can remember the joy and humour and fun again; I can conceive of jokes and silliness and sweetness again. My playlist is filling up again, with songs of hope and love instead of anguish and sorrow. The Yuuri and Victor who sit inside my heart are skating; the music is carrying them, the wind is rushing past their ears, their feet feel light again and they want to jump and take flight and make beautiful things.

I have bookended this post with lyrics from a song that’s been on the maybe list for Setting Sun for nearly as long as Setting Sun has existed. It’s a song I love quite profoundly, a song that means a lot to me personally, but I could never manage to make it fit. It’s a song about running away to the big bright city, about being broken on the world’s wheel, and about realizing you just want to go home. It’s a song that’s ostensibly about the tragedy of this process, but right now I’m sitting at my desk, listening to the line I, I, I wanna go back, back, back, back, with grateful tears running down my face, and I’m realizing that it’s not part of Yuuri’s story, nor Victor’s; it’s part of mine. Home may never be the same as when you left, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t waiting for you with open arms.

So that’s what happened.

Put my body on a wagon And carry me off to the ocean Let me float on into the eastern sun Out where tomorrow has just begun Where I used to be wild, back in my time Now I just fight to sleep at night So render me up into the elements Lay me in a light that I can trust Lay me in a light that I can trust Lay me in a light that I come from...

(Gold Teeth, by Hey Rosetta!)

#personal #yuri on ice #writing #minimally edited

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ladyghouls · 3 years

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i really didn’t think i had imposter syndrome

but i start a new job tomorrow and

me now:

i didn’t earn this, i dont know anything, i don't now what i’m doing, i’m a sham, a FRAUD!!!!!!!

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hellzyeahwebwielingessays · 4 years

Photo

There is so much to say about this. Much of it is obvious. It’s gross. It’s spiteful on Slott’s part. But the thing I want to talk about is how it was one of countless examples of plot over character. Of contrivance over logic. Of MJ being written like a dumbass so she wouldn’t realise Peter is not right.

When has Peter ever spoken to MJ that exact way?

Never.

And yet someone I used to respect on Spider-Man matters actually defended this moment.

The crux of their argument was that MJ wouldn’t have suspected anything about ‘Peter’ because of the situation.

As in, to MJ the stress and danger of his the Sinister Six going directly after him and his loved ones is what caused Peter to talk to her this way.

Let’s unpack that idea.

First of all, outside of jest (and even then only like occasionally at best), Peter has never called MJ ‘woman’ before.

Second of all Peter has never insulted MJ in this way outside of the following situations.

ASM #122. This is perhaps when Peter was at his nastiest with MJ. I’m sure I need not spell out the context but for the record I’ll do it anyway. MJ’s friend, Peter’s would-be fiancée has just died. Murdered by the Green Goblin. Peter has come home to find MJ there. At this point MJ has seemed nothing more than a carefree party girl to Peter, someone who from his POV played with Harry’s heart and put the moves on him in spite of knowing about how Harry felt about her and how he and Gwen felt about one another.

He lashes out at her and viciously insults her, demanding she leave.

For the sake of argument let’s ignore later retcons about MJ’s past and knowledge of Peter’s identity.

In this situation Peter’s attitude is perfectly understandable and MJ was always aware of that. From MJ’s POV perhaps she has been out of line, but even if you disagree with that she’d know that Peter is emotionally devastated in this moment. He’s grieving from a immense wound that’s only a few hours old.

That is not the context for ASM #700. In ASM #700 he’s not grieving. From MJ’s POV he might be scared and stressed but it’s a million miles from being as bad as Gwen’s death.

Also this was when they were both much younger and when they had yet to have a serious romance. Before they shared a lifetime of trauma and tragedy that bonded them together and made them closer. That is surely a factor worth considering his actions in ASM #700.

Later in the same run we have ASM #127 when Peter chastised her for not turning in evidence after witnessing a murder. Peter in this instance was trying to deliberately provoke MJ so she’d get over her fear, get better protection for herself and ultimately do the right thing.

MJ herself might not have been aware specifically of what Peter was doing here. But the context was still starkly different to ASM #700.

Here it is MJ who is stressed ad scared, not Peter. From her POV Peter’s insults are coming from a place of moral outrage not frustration or fear. With hindsight MJ would also know that Peter was Spider-Man at this time and so was looking out for her, someone very capable of handling the Vulture. His moral outrage would also make more sense in hindsight as MJ is in effect replicating his own mistake from AF #15.

So again, not a comparable situation.

How about ASM #318? This was when they were married. In this story an unemployed MJ has spent yet another night partying. Peter gets passive aggressive when he calls her out on this and they have a brief argument.

First of all, this instance is very different to Peter’s insults in ASM #700. He wasn’t being passive aggressive there at all and much more hurtful. Additionally MJ was running away from her problems and in the wrong in this instance. That is not the same thing as Peter being stressed and scared and lashing out.

Next up we have Spec #199 and #200 where Peter and MJ have two blazing arguments.

Noticeably here Peter isn’t insulting MJ all that much if at all. The context here is somewhat similar to ASm #700’s because he’s afraid Harry as the Green Goblin will target his loved ones.

However, Peter’s stress here is the result of weeks of psychological warfare on Harry’s part. He sent Aunt May an intimidating present back in Spec #189 and ordered the Rhino to threaten the Parkers in Spec #190. He admits to this strategy in Spec #200

There had also been lots of other mentally taxing things going on around that time too, like Peter’s first encounter with Carnage, Venom’s renewed vendetta against him and Calypso using voodoo magic to torture him.

This was a Spider-Man who hadn’t just snapped into stress mode because of this one situation but had his mental resiliency pushed very far already.

Let’s also consider this wasn’t just some super villains targeting his loved ones, but an Osborn as the Green Goblin doing it. The Goblin/Norman Osborn hurt Peter in the most devastating way since his uncle died. For him to know his secret identity and to be using it to hurt Peter’s loved ones is going to hit harder than just any villains in general doing that.

MJ would know that not just because of her shared life experiences with Peter but because she studied goddam psychology!

The last time I can recall Peter being this scathing towards MJ was in Spec #211. Here he delivers perhaps an even more vicious insult to MJ than in ASM #122. He accuses MJ of knowing nothing about pain or sacrifice, merely running away from her pain.. He then equally scathingly suggests she go out dancing as she is want to do when she flees her concerns.

What makes these insults extra vicious is that they weren’t said by a younger Peter who’d never been with MJ seriously before. A Peter who didn’t know of her painful past. It was uttered by an older and married Peter who was fully aware of his wife’s childhood.

Again though, context is key.

This was set during the ‘Pursuit’ story arc. Months prior Peter had discovered his parents were alive and had been in a Soviet prison until the (then recent) collapse of the Soviet Union. Over time he’d accepted them back into his life and even revealed his secret to them. However, they were merely artificial imposters created to resemble his parents by the Chameleon. After they were destroyed Peter vowed to make Chammy pay and relentlessly went on the hunt for him.

So this moment from Spec #211 is yet another time Peter is grieving from a very fresh and very emotionally devastating wound. To lose your parents once is awful. To do it at a young age worse. To spend your whole life accepting that difficult. To find out all that grief and struggle was pointless because your parents were alive and abruptly back in your life? Well that’s emotionally confusing at best, if not a major gut punch at worst. To then put the work in to build a relationship with them, to learn to trust them, to let them in and open up about your most intimate secret? That’s a big step. That would’ve taken immense emotional strength to make yourself so vulnerable.

To then be betrayed after that, by your parents no less, to discover it’s all been a sham. That the work you put in was a cruel joke and to then lose your parents all over again.

It’s an emotional/mental scar the likes of which many people might never have recovered from.

Peter is not simply angry. He is incensed! He is very close to being in a murderous rage.

Is it any wonder he lashes out so cruelly and so unfairly against MJ in this moment?

Of course not. He’s not in the right but obviously it’s forgivable given the circumstances.

Again though, his stress is born from grief and pain. No fear or concern.

So as we can see, past precedent shoots down the idea that Peter would talk to MJ this way even if he was stressed and so on. And MJ knows that.

Shit, he didn’t talk to MJ this way during ‘Civil War’ when the Parker family were fugitives and Peter’s identity was public knowledge. There, as stressed and concerned as he was, he was often soft spoken and even romantic with MJ.

Not to mention what on Earth is there to even be fearful or stressed about?

MJ’s dialogue claims Peter is scared, worried for his loved ones. Concerned that he’s not up to the challenge of protecting them.

But like…it’s Trapster, Scorpion, Hydro-Man and a dying Doc Ock.

Not exactly the A-Team are they?

Trapster is a loser C-lister Peter 9/10 can very easily handle and has handled in the past.

Hydro-Man is technically more powerful but you zap him with some electricity and he’s out. He’s really not that difficult to defeat even for a low tech Spider-Man, let alone a Spidey with access to advanced tech and assistance from HORIZON labs scientists.

Scorpion is in some ways the most deadly of these three but he’s also way easier to beat. You don’t have to worry about his malleable body or his sticky traps. He’s basically all about brute force and Spider-Man was able to clean his clock even as an inexperienced teenager.

And when he wasn’t holding back as an adult it was really no contest.

Normally Doc Ock would be the most formidable opponent here but he’s literally hours away from dying. This a very far cry from the Doc Ock who was powerful enough to manhandle teen Spidey in ASM #3

Or who outright intimidated Spidey when he was like 23 years old.

Spidey routinely beat Ock when he wasn’t backed up by gadgetry and HORIZON labs. Now he has AND he’s got time to prepare himself for battle AND Otto is on his last legs. As far as Ock battles go, this is an unfair fight. The cards are in Spider-Man’s favour.

Yes they are ganging up on him but Spider-Man actually fares better against groups of opponents because of his acrobatic abilities and spider sense. He is actually able to turn his opponents against one another if anything.

Again, MJ knows all this.

I’m not saying this situation wouldn’t be cause for concern but it wouldn’t be emotionally destabilizing Peter to nearly the same extent as many of the instances I spoke of above.

So MJ would be absolutely aware that Peter is acting very out of the ordinary here.

So the guy who claimed the situation justifies her blindness is full of shit.

P.S. Also, frankly MJ looks weak for saying she loves Peter after he chews her out.

#Spider-Man #Superior Spider-Man #mjwatsonedit #mary jane watson #Mary Jane Watson Parker #MJ Watson #Peter Parker #otto octavius #Doc Ock #Doctor Octopus #clone saga #Dan Slott

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blackasteriia · 4 years

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🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥 oh no it’s on fire, rant for me bb

Feed the Fires of my Salt

Guts I know you don’t know anything about Kingdom Hearts, and bless you, but I’m here to talk about Riku. I’m here to talk about Riku in 358/2 Days. Because what the heck is going on with him?

I’m going to go out on a limb and say that Riku is a pretty good guy. He’s human, he’s made some mistakes. He got possessed by the villain a couple of times, happens to the best of us. At heart, Riku has good intentions. He cares in a deep, compassionate way about his friend. Without hesitation he’d risk life-and-limb for Sora, Kairi, Naminé or anyone else. He helps those in need and he’s polite, well-mannered. Riku has a cool, logical look on life and he is rarely reckless-- although he is fearless. As he has struggled with the darkness, he is uniquely compassionate with people who are suffering as well.

So why is he complicit in Xion’s murder?

Xion meets Riku in 358/2 Days when she confronts the ‘imposter’ impersonating an Organization member. They fought and he defeated her with ease. Riku takes her keyblade and calls it a ‘fake,’ and a ‘sham,’ ‘worthless,’ ‘can’t fight fire with sparks.’ Stop running with those Organization guys, bad news. Riku doesn’t offer Xion any alternative to the Organization. He abandons her in the courtyard and washes his hand of any responsibility. This had a profound effect on Xion. Her failure to defeat Riku --an experience and powerful keyblade bearer btw-- causes Saïx to reject her. Saïx is certain to reinforce Riku’s opinion that she is worthless and is a fake that doesn’t belong in the Organization. Riku causes Xion to question her position in the Organization in all the worst ways. Why is she so inferior? Why doesn’t she belong? What’s wrong with her?

Imagine the scenario where Riku did not abandon Xion in that moment. He’s beaten her, stripped her clean, she’s already down and out. There is no reason to insult her. If he complimented her, told her he admired her determination, asked if she was okay-- the contrast to how Saïx treats her alone would make her ask the right questions. Why does the Organization treat her worse? What’s wrong with Saïx? Why won’t they accept her? Riku doesn’t know who or what Xion is, but the principle of the matter stands: make friends, not enemies. Riku’s behavior comes off as cold and callous when it has no reason to be. He becomes another cruel person in a conga line of abuse.

Later on, after Xion learns about the replica program, Xion travels to Destiny Islands. The force of Sora’s memories causes her to have a mental breakdown and collapse. Riku finds her there and when she wakes-up they talk. Riku tells Xion that in order to save Sora, she has to give-up the memories she’s taken. He gives her some time to think about it.

Here’s the deal with this conversation. Xion can’t just give-up Sora’s memories. Those memories are the foundation of her existence. If she loses those memories, we are told, she will cease to exist. Riku just told Xion that in order to save his friend, he needs her to die. Oh, we can go on that she ‘goes back to Sora,’ and ‘she comes back in KH3 Gina!’ No, neither Xion nor Riku know that Xion will get a second chance. ‘Going back to Sora,’ is Xion letting go of her lease on life and ceasing to exist. She will be dead. They don’t even know she has a heart. Riku gives Xion two options: go back to your friends and continue to exist; or, come back with me and be killed so Sora can wake-up. Xion is uncertain so Riku says this to her:

Because, you know, when someone is contemplating suicide, they really need to weigh other people’s opinions. Xion needs to consider if she’s being a burden on her friends. Make sure she’s not being too selfish. Hey, Xion, Riku really, really, wants his friend to wake-up, do you maybe mind dying so he can have him back? Also, Xion your continued existence may not be the best thing for your friends, so like? I mean, you are ‘stealing’ Roxas’ powers and life force.

Riku gives Xion more ‘time to think about it,’ before he walks-off again and leaves her there. From that moment forward Xion understands that she is living on borrowed time. She talks like she has a terminal cancer: “I have to make the most of the time I have left.” Riku doesn’t give Xion a real option to say: ‘I do not want to die.’ That is never presented as a legitimate choice. He gives her the options of now or later. And Xion delays until someone forces her to choose and she is killed. I don’t believe, for all the mournful and morbid ways she talked, Xion ever wanted to die. She wanted to live. She wanted to be with her friends, even as those relationships fell apart.

And like Xion is a replica. Xion does have Sora’s memories intentangled with hers. She is leaching Roxas’ powers because of the nature of her design. She is a weapon and tool of the Organization designed to secure Xemnas’ goal of Kingdom Hearts, and world domination --or whatever. She’s a nobody without a heart, ya-da, ya-da. Riku knows that she’s a real person though. He’s interacted with her, spoken with her, and Naminé has told him that Xion is real. Riku never acts like this though. He never intervenes to even attempt to save Xion’s life. Not once, and this isn’t a black-white dichotomy ya’ll. Naminé says that it’s possible to remove Sora’s memories from Xion and have her survive. It would just take more time and DiZ, her jerk handler, wouldn’t allow it.

And for some reason Riku doesn’t say: ‘fuck DiZ.’ Naminé has all the power in this situation. She is the sole person who can put Humpty Dumpty back together again. Not all the king’s horses and all the king’s men. Riku isn’t know for being obedient and complaint either. He’s supposed to be this cool rebel, working against the power to save his friends. He’s hot-topic levels of edgy, and it’s hollow and empty because he follows DiZ like a good little boy. We are led to believe that Riku traveled with Xion for almost forty days, an entire month, and was basically okay with her death.

Because after Destiny Island, Xion and Riku don’t show-up until Axel captures her again in Twilight Town. Xion returns to the Organization and it’s implied that Xion relies on Riku now, more than she did. She looks to him for answers. After her first return, xion is under absurd pressure. Her mere presence is slowly killing her sole friend; She is a slave and soldier of the Organization, forced to meet increasing quotas of heartless; She is being physically and emotionally abused by her superiors, to the point of murder attempts; And even Axel is taping the watch, waiting for her to keel over. She finds Riku, he tells her to find Naminé, and Naminé can put her out of her misery. Then Sora can have the memories Xion ‘stole’ back and he can wake-up.

Saving Sora is Riku’s sole motivation in this game. It’s for that reason he goes along with DiZ’s plans. He persuades Xion to give up her memories and kill herself. He captures Roxas and lets DiZ stuff him into the digital Twilight Town while he is psychologically tortured. So, Nomura wants me to believe that Riku, basically-good-protagonist, is willing to torture, kidnap, and murder in the name of his friends. When I know for a fact that if Sora found-out what was being done in his name, he wouldn’t accept it. Sora would rather stay asleep forever than know that Xion and Roxas were killed on his behalf. I will take that hot take with me to the grave. This is the idiot kid who was willing to be stripped of all of his memories so he can save Namine, who he met that day. Why isn’t Riku on the same page as his best friends?

And you’ll say, oh their teenagers, they don’t know better. One, they’re child soldiers in a war and they have a back bone. Riku has already been manipulated once with Maleficent and Ansem. He knows better than to blindly follow authority figures by now, at least I hope. Two, teenagers aren’t known for being compliant with authority anyway. Naminé is more than willing to risk life and limb to help Roxas, Sora, and Kairi, why not Xion. Three, it’s a better plot. A good plot is Riku subverting DiZ and Xemnas, helping save Roxas and Xion, and finding a way wake-up Sora, despite the presumed challenges. Because that’s what protagonists are supposed to do.

C’mon Nomura, this isn’t hard.

#holds-the-universe #✰*✦ This is the idiot speaking ⎧OOC⎫#✰*✦Enjoy your days off! ⎧Memes⎫#✰*✦ Strangers are just friends you haven’t met yet!⎧Asks⎫#suicide tw #abuse tw

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phandomphightclub · 5 years

Text

Lexovorus vs. Dannyphandump Phight

As much as Tali liked to tell other people to fight her, it had been a while since she’d actually taken on other ghost. Since the Mod Phight, which had been rather short. Vorus had probably seen that, or at least heard about her fighting technique; meanwhile, Tali had no idea what kind of tricks Vorus had up their sleeves.

That didn’t stop her from taunting her opponent, though.

“Are you just gonna stand there, or are you gonna show me you actually live up to the OG Lexx?”

“I’m not standing. I’m floating, obviously.” Vorus rolled their eyes behind their dark sunglasses. “You’re the one who challenged me to this stupid phight. Why don’t you come at me?”

Tali hadn’t wanted to make the first move — she’d modded enough phights to know that whoever went in first usually lost. But Vorus was playing cautious too.

“GET ‘EM, TALI!” Lexx was shouting from the VIP box. Other ghosts were getting impatient too; they couldn’t keep circling each other forever.

“Alright, you asked for it!” Tali raised her kazoo, ready to play in time with the pounding dubstep beat that was still coming from the speaker system.

But she didn’t get the chance. Faster than she thought possible, one of Vorus’s fidget spinners shot forward. Cloaked in fire, it collided with the kazoo and melted it instantly. Tali was left gaping.

“You — I paid four whole dollars for that! In the human world! Do you know how hard that’ll be to replace?”

“Good.” Vorus grinned. “Everyone’s sick of your stupid kazoo music anyway. If you can even call it music.”

“...Are they?” Tali asked quietly.

“Don’t listen to that binch!” A ghost called. Bug. The words brought Tali a little more determination.

“Doesn't matter. I don’t need my kazoo to beat a poser like you.” Tali stretched out her hand, channeling her wind core into a blast of air that took Vorus by surprise; the Lexx imposter crossed their arms at the last second to block, but was still blown back several feet.

“There we go! Show me what you’ve really got!” Vorus spun and hurled a barrage of flaming fidget spinners. Tali slid to the side, deflecting them with a gust of wind — most of them, anyway; one still caught her coat sleeve on fire. She blew it out quickly.

“Man, even if I win, I’m gonna have to replace my kazoo and my clothes,” she muttered. Then with a burst of air, she launched herself forward, aiming a kick at Vorus’s chest.

The other ghost caught her foot in her palms. “Jump attacks, Tali? Really? So predictable.”

They swung her and tossed her across the ring.

“Is this it?” Vic announced over the loudspeaker. “Had Vorus taken down — wait, look! She’s getting up!”

“Heck yeah I am,” Tali grumbled. “You think I’d go down that easily? I’m an ace, which means I have to have at least one extra card up my sleeve.”

Despite having short sleeves, she still reached across her chest and pulled something from them — two hooked blades that by all the laws of physics should not have fit inside her coat. But this was the ghost zone, so the laws of physics were more like suggestions.

“Keyblades?” Vorus laughed. “I saw that coming a mile away.”

Tali growled and rushed forward anyway, raining down a flurry of blows with her two blades. Vorus blocked each one with a flame-enveloped hand. Tali didn’t understand — she knew her obsession was more obvious than most ghosts’, but there was no way Vorus should’ve been able to block her keyblades so easily, even if they’d expected the weapons. Something was very, very wrong.

But she stayed on the offensive, looking for an opening. Vorus couldn’t keep blocking forever.

“It’s useless, you know,” Vorus said, catching one blade in each hand. The fire from her palms spread down the blue metal, heating it until it Tali was forced to drop her weapons with a hiss. The keyblades clanged loudly against the concrete. Vorus kicked them out of Tali’s reach.

“You may not recognize me, but I know you, Tali. You’re all bark and no bite. Even these keyblades are just a sham.”

“Easy for you to say! You’re the real sham!” Tali spat, backing up. Weaponless again… things weren’t looking great. “You won’t even show your face!”

“Hmph.” Vorus grinned and adjusted their sunglasses, their form flickering fitfully for a moment. “Fair enough. I guess you could say I’m the biggest nobody of them all.”

With that, they stretched out a hand and sent a bolt of fire blasting into Tali’s chest.

The crowd hushed. The music cut out. Tali stared straight ahead, her hand slowly coming up to cover the burn.

“That’s how it is, huh?” She whispered.

“It just be like that sometimes.” Vorus nodded, hands still glowing with flames. “You ready to give it up? You can’t defeat me.”

Vorus was right. Tali wasn’t going to win this match… that firebolt had struck too close to her core. There was only one thing left to do.

She smiled up at Vic, who was watching the fight with an unreadable expression. Vic was always too good at masking her emotions.

“Take care of the Denny’s for me,” Tali said. Then, with the last bit of energy in her damaged core, she dabbed.

The shockwave of wind from the dab blasted across the arena. Concrete shattered under their feet. Vorus was thrown back, hitting the invisible wall hard. From the view in the VIP box, it looked like Vorus had to be out.

But then the dust cleared… and Tali was gone.

Vic stared at the ring, unable to believe it. Tali had actually… lost? And there Vorus was, slowly regaining the strength to stand. Tali’s last attack hadn’t even been enough to take them out completely.

“No way,” Lexosaurus breathed. “You mean I have to watch Livin’ Large sober? Are you kidding me??”

That was hardly the biggest problem at the moment, but Vic ignored her.

“Tali… is unable to battle,” she announced slowly. “Lexovorus wins?”

Lexovorus held up her remaining fidget spinners in victory.

“YEET :)))”

#mod tali #writeup #results #i had to write my own fridgeing defeat #this is what i get for my raw hubris #bonus round #dannyphandump vs lexovorus

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therunawayscamp · 5 years

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Signals are Exchanged between the Runaway Scamp and the Kintyra.

The natural habitat of an Ashlander is in the Ashlands. I realise that this may sound self-evident but you would be surprised at the number of people who don't understand what it means. The Ashlands are not an area of Morrowind which happens to be a bit hotter than the rest of it, they are (or rather were) scorched wastelands riddled with foyadas, barren of any life which didn't try to kill all other life it encountered, and near impossible to live on thanks to an absence of any water. The Ashlanders managed it somehow, mostly with bloody-mindedness the like of which has not been seen before or since.

With this in mind, and for absolute clarity, it can safely be said that the natural habitat of an Ashlander is not fifty feet up in the air in squalling winds and rain, squinting across an ocean. It is a compliment to Zannammu's versatility and determination

that this is where she found herself on lookout duty, and that she committed herself entirely to her task.

Fog and smoke, which is never far away in Morrowind, obscured most of her view. There was a dark, heavy mass squatting on the horizon, which might have been a raincloud, but was probably the ruins of Vvardenfell, and that was about it for unique features. In every direction, the sea was grey and choppy, and the Runaway Scamp slipped in and out sight as she passed through the mist thrown up by the waves and the wind. The only colours in this grey, featureless landscape were her signal flags. Zannammu pushed her bandanna out of her eyes with the hand not clinging to the mast and bellowed the message down to the main deck.

'Deck there! Signal from the Scamp! Storm ahead!'

Braskan was marching back and forth between the sailors. I might have my reservations about him as a captain, but I will say this for him: when he gets nervous, he doesn't show it. Primarily because all the sujamma has rotted away his common sense, but that doesn't change the facts of the situation. When he heard the message, he grunted and spat over the side without so much as a flicker of concern.

'Ya don' fuckin' say!' He stumped towards the mast and shrugged off his coat while he addressed Shamilia, who was his first mate at the time. 'Keep her on course, Sham. I's goin' up top ta see if I can't find summat useful ta signal back.'

While Zannammu waited for him, feeling the mast rock and the deck swing around beneath her, she followed the Scamp's progress as best she could when the weather was so thick and foul. There were no points to mark distance by, or if they were the waves reared up and covered them before she could get a good fix, but as she watched she realised that something was wrong. The water was dark all around, coated with a shiny film of ash, but between the cavernous troughs of the waves she was sure she could see lighter patches and then, at their centre, jagged flashes of blackness. Surf whipped across them. Waves breaking.

The arrival of Braskan beside her didn't interrupt her line of thought, which is astonishing because Braskan's presence anywhere in the vicinity is enough to put everything else out of my head as I try to work out what he's done wrong this time. Having him and his smell

squashed against her in such close quarters could not have been a pleasant experience for Zannammu, yet she kept staring, and let his words tumble around her.

'They thinks I can't tell a storm when I sees it? Damned thing came outta nowhere. Yellow one minute, black the next. Looks a righ' big one, too, goin' ta hit us wi' all Seht's wrath. Bes' get down afore this wind gets any stronger. 'S already like Oran's bunk after he's bin eatin' kresh, so 'tis.'

Neither of them moved, or at least not further than the gales pushing them on the swaying mast. Braskan was staring at Vvardenfell, what he could see of it. Zannammu was staring at something much closer.

‘Captain, look there. Do they look like rocks to you?'

Braskan squinted in the direction Zannammu had waved her hand. They were on the peak of a wave, gazing down into the trough, and the blackness was stark against the white froth only a few cables away. He gritted his teeth and gripped the mast more tightly.

'Ya seen Mr Drasonval's charts afore ya came aboard, didn' ya? There wasn't no bloody rocks on them.'

'They were drawn up before the Red Year.' Zannammu said this in a tone us officers know well, the tone of a sailor who would really like to be using much stronger, more direct words but doesn't want to risk a beating. 'Nobody's fully charted the Bay since then. What if the Imposter's--'

'--Lord Vehk may he be praised an' all--'

'–little accident left debris in the water?'

The next wave swelled up over the blackness and then surged forwards. The prow of the Kintyra lifted as water sluiced across the deck, drenching the hands at work. They glanced between each tug on a line at the oncoming storm and the older hands, the ones like Azrik “One-Ear” Mathri who knew the cost of carelessness first hand, sidled as close to the taffrail and the mast as their task would let them, prepared to grab hold if the storm came any closer. Braskan, when he managed to tear his eyes away from the clouds and the patch of water, looked directly at Zannammu, saw her chin jutting forwards and how tightly her fists were clenched, so far away from her home – and yet so close, with Vvardenfell somewhere out there. He leaned sideways, so that he was dangling over the deck, and roared to Sham,

'Signal the Scamp! Danger ahead! Alter course to larboard!'

Sham's voice was torn away on the wind, but the mess of figures below suddenly coalesced as they ran to their stations and obeyed their orders. Braskan hunched his head down as far as he could, not having the collar of his coat to hide in, and began to lower himself from the top, none of which was enough to stop Zannammu from kicking his shoulder as he went down.

'What do we do, captain? If we want to avoid the rocks, we have to sail into the storm.'

'I knows tha'.'

'We'll be taken aback!'

'I knows tha', too.'

'There's nothing we can do, no time to prepare.' She felt rain lashing across her knuckles and down her wrists. 'You know what this is? This was sent by Azura as a judgement. You said yourself it came out of nowhere, and--'

'Mistress Zannammu, shut yer Thrice-cursed ashen mouth, or I's gonna shut it for ya!'

Hardly up to R'khan's standard of threat, I'm sure you'll agree, but it did cut Zannammu off. She was almost beyond speech anyway. As Braskan continued his descent, her arms were locked tight around the masthead and her lips moved in silent prayer. All she could think about, all she could see, even when she closed her eyes, was the water rearing towards the hull, and the rocks baring their teeth in the depths.

#the works of master vilayn #zannammu

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itsfemaleengineermanagertip-blog · 5 years

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Female engineer manager tips

It became obvious from the primary event when I took a PC programming magnificence in secondary school that it changed into one in every of most effective a handful couple of topics that truly energized me. At first, it become only an opportunity I become giving it a shot, yet I before long found out that designing turned into what I needed to study and are looking for after for my deep rooted vocation. The factor I cherish most approximately constructing is that there are boundless chances to do vital work and usually study. Here are a few female engineer manager tips.

There are in every case new advancements and styles with which to acclimate your self, just as better processes to manufacture some thing better. Toward the day's end, it's inconceivably satisfying seeing a notion trade into some thing full-size, certainly one of a kind and innovative.

After that underlying class in secondary faculty, I proceeded to get my Bachelor's certificates in Computer Engineering from the University of Mumbai and a Master's qualification in Computer Science from USC. I at that factor labored at a group of tech businesses, including, IBM, a beginning period journey startup as soon as within the past referred to as Triptrotting (currently Wist) and Myspace. In the lower back at the leading edge of my mind, be that as it may, the startup area become calling me — it become something about the success of shape, turning and downsizing that was example me.

I moved to San Francisco and joined YouNoodle, a SaaS degree for startup rivalries, as one of the early specialists. Following three years of in-your-face designing, that's the element that I needed to are trying to find after as my deep rooted vocation, I moved to item the board. I presently lead the object and designing organization. Despite the truth that I don't get the hazard to code like an architect does, I am immediately there with my institution, offering course and information.

To the volume analyzing software program engineering and filling in as a specialist are concerned, anyone realizes that the male to woman percentage is extremely slanted. The functions behind this have been ascribed to the whole thing from undeniable sexism and industry generalizations to the manner that the lack of girls is detaching in itself.

In spite of the truth that I haven't confronted direct segregation (thump on wooden) as a lady professional, there were unobtrusive things I've visible whilst running in past employments. Most pretty these included occasions in which I'd be not to mention for the "young guys membership." But as lengthy because it wasn't planned or had a bad effect expertly, I accredited of it … to some extent.

Get beyond the stereotyping and position yourself for an effective career in PC programming and building.

Moreover, and unfortunately, over and over I actually have encountered the now-basic response from a part of my companions. It's the equivalent incredible remark with out fail: "Gracious, no question about it?!" I might experience that being in Silicon Valley, wherein there are many female designers, my glad decree could not evoke this sort of response any further. Shockingly, and lamentably, regardless it does.

My answer to this has changed from outrage to perplexity, and now I'm in reality diverted. Nobody accepts that I'm a clothier, generally in mild of the reality that I am a female. Now, I recognize incredible people with truth about my calling and am glad to interrupt freed from their imprudent suppositions.

So what do you have to do to get past the stereotyping and function your self for a fruitful profession in PC programming and designing? Here are my pinnacle bits of know-how for the ones young girls obtainable who are hoping to assemble and hold a vocation in any STEM calling.

Concentrate On What You Love Doing. Regardless of whether or not it is shape gadgets, composing code, seeing things paintings or helping individuals, you ought to dependably progress inside the direction of what you're lively about (prosaic as that sounds, it is extremely legitimate). Disregard considering the assumptions of what someone in tech ought to resemble and resemble, in this kind of case that you cherish doing it, you'll probably do it nicely.

Be eager! Snatch every open door that comes your path. In Silicon Valley, and around the world, there are boundless open doors from tech how-tos and organizing occasions to notion rivalries and mentorship applications.

Discover A Workplace That Facilitates Growth For Women And Emphasizes Work/Life Balance. Vet an company even as meeting; pose inquiries, as an instance, who are the women inside the board? How does the building group examine and produce? You do not have to paintings simply with ladies to sense good. It's the business enterprise's way of existence and convictions that problem extra. My quick group is for the most component men, however YouNoodle by using and big advances and cultivates the improvement of women, so I feel extensively all round put. A tremendous deal of businesses of overdue are focusing on assorted range — earnings through that.

Discover A Mentor … Or Two Or Three. Having a teach goes far in supporting you make feel of what you need, a way to method undertaking your targets, the way to defeat problems and the sky is the limit from there. Tutors may be every person from individuals you regard and admire on your calling, to collaborators, cherished ones. I've seen that there's a actual bond among girls in this space, and that likens to a ton of assist and encouraging of improvement.

Step Away From The Built-In Imposter Syndrome. Act obviously. The sham sickness is energized by means of various matters — the well-known pay hollow, the sheer difference in numbers amongst male and girl companions in a similar field and a distinction in ranges of reality. I used to peer that my male partners could be regularly wonderful approximately popular while contrasted with my female friends, no matter the fact that their aptitudes and capacities were of a similar level.

I myself have felt the fraud disease kick in on unique activities, each whilst concentrating just as running. It took me some time to take a shot at my truth levels; but I did, and it has really helped me pass far.

Last, however positively not least, on the off risk that someone is treating you amateurishly (man or female), trade the circumstance. Persuade them to be accountable, or get out and into a advanced condition whilst you may. There will dependably be exclusive possibilities, and you merit the exceptional.

Contact Info

Engineers Rising LLC

210 W Hamilton Ave, Suite 305, State College PA 16801

8148263151

https://www.engineersrising.com

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theventilationblog · 2 years

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sometimes realizing i'll probably never leave my childhood bedroom feels like a trap and sometimes it feels like the safest and most secure, the only place i've ever actually belonged

i feel suffocated by the things i own that i add to each and every week i know i'm basically a hoarder without the garbage and i know i know i know i can't fill the voids in me with Things and Stuff but it really does feel good and right in the moment to buy my fiftieth plush rabbit on impulse even though i've long since surpassed the ability to hold any more little friends in my arms at night

i gravitate to the coziest things, comforters and pillows and throw blankets and plushes and pajamas and candles and anything designed solely to make existing in the pins and needles and prickles of my body more bearable

as i age i feel even more like a thing that has outgrown an enclosure too small and ill-suited for its livelihood like my growth has been stunted and deformed by broken glass and shredded metal turned inwards i press against as i expand and expand and bleed constantly, not a gush but a consistent trickle

my recurring nightmares involve a lot of bleeding; from the eyes and ears and nose and mouth that speaks and speaks incessantly and flecks the blood all over everyone and everything and not only does nobody stop or try to help they just carry on like being sprayed with blood with every conversation is Just Normal and Fine and lately now the bleeding specifically comes from shattered pieces of teeth left clacking around in bruised gums and jaws after the stress of living brought the clenching to a head and destroyed every last one of them

i've described myself before as a lot of limb balloons tied to my body with string, with whimsical wire connecting the bones and tendons and percariously keeping all the pieces attached while they pull lazily off in different directions just teasing along the line of being severed entirely and escaping into the void my head floats the furthest most of the time and sometimes the string is barely there at all, more like a suggestion of a connection than anything tangible

sometimes the feelings recede like the tide before a great wave and my skin tingles and burns with the unpleasantness of housing utter hollowness, like it knows it's meant to contain substance but i have nothing to fill it with and it is Angry With Me for being a sham of a human being

i have thoughts and ideas and feelings and i know i exist in the real world and surely there are people i have Existed Closely Enough Beside that would notice the implosion should it ever occur and raze me from the face of the earth but knowing it and knowing it and Knowing It All The Time doesn't make me believe it

ironic that i grew my own traitorous treasonous lump of self organically in my own skull with my own blood and tissues, the thing best positioned to take me out at any fucking time is the thing that defines my humanity

sometimes my imposter syndrome makes sense as a person; clearly i've tricked everyone i've ever met that likes or respects me because there is Nothing respectable or likeable or valuable about me and there never has been and there likely never will be but Sometimes It's Weird and it's that i've tried myself into believing i am in fact a human being when the inelegant synapses the little zips and zaps that remind me periodically i am in fact alive Insist I Am Otherwise

sometimes i want to shake the entire wall the mirror hangs on and just demand it fucking tell me what i'm looking at

i just want to contribute one thing one essential valuable thing i want to do something or say something that Means Something before my time in reality ends i want to matter to someone in a way they can never forget i don't want to be replaceable or fade away-able

sometimes the only way to remind me that i exist is to commit to trivial and pointless little projects and rituals like sorting all my playlists alphabetically or cataloguing every book i own or manually adding release years to all my audio files and occassionally just resorting the entire fucking library because I Can Make It Better

i did those things i made them better i did that and it doesn't matter at fucking all

it isn't like i think people aren't aware that things are Wrong With Me like everyone that's ever spent more than an hour with me knows i'm at least a little fucked up but wow i've really integrated it as flawlessly as disaster can be integrated into my personality i really don't think i'm capable of articulating exactly how far into fucking insane i really am like not an hour goes by in my life that i don't briefly contemplate clawing off my own face or buying and consuming every psychedelic known to degenerates just to feel something that doesn't feel like styrofoam preprogammed existence

normally i'd just say I Need Help but like where do you even start

#sitting down to type shit feels so stilted and wrong for the first half paragraph #then it's just fucking go time #happy 2am here's some cringe

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modosphere · 6 years

Text

About A Girl: Chapter Two

Happy reading :) I actually am quite looking forward to this, so... Let me know what you think!

- henbee xo

CORE: club Manhattan, New York Two Days Later

Mara watched Ari collapse, her back hitting the mat with a satisfying thud, just as the alarm on her phone signalled the end of their training session.

Mara knew it was petty; it was a compliment, really, for Ari to want to train with her rather than the CORE club’s trainers. It was the most elite gym in the city, open twenty-four hours (hence the two of them being there at almost 3am) and filled with anything a rich drama queen may need; psychologists, personal trainers, personal chefs…

Except, Ari asking for Mara’s help wasn’t about that. And anyway, it had been Mara who had text her; asking Ari if she’d like to train, if she was awake. Mara hadn’t been able to sleep; and she needed to train somewhere that wasn’t the balcony of her and Danyal’s flat, somewhere she could push herself without having to worry about Dany wondering why she looked as if she was in pain.

… Still. After Ari’s blackmail stunt to force Mara into agreeing to play nice with Danyal at Pixie’s wedding, seeing Ari winded - if not only slightly more than Mara - was still a nice edge.

Clearly, Ari had noticed.

“You’re angry at me for blackmailing you.” Ari huffed, still out of breath, as Mara helped hoist her from the floor. Mara said nothing. “It’s like Raj said-”

“Anything Raj says is going to be defending you, that’s not as glowing a recommendation as you seem to think.” Mara muttered, letting her hand go. Ari watched enviously; to her, it looked as if Mara hadn’t even broken a sweat - her cheeks just looked rosy, as if it were cold… Not like they’d been sparring each other for fifteen minutes straight. “You could have asked me first. Before blackmailing me like that. My career is something I’ve worked for is entirely separate from your family’s surname-”

“If that’s what you tell yourself.” Ari shrugged, making Mara shake her head. Of course that was her reaction. “Anyway, would it have made a difference if I’d asked you first? Wouldn’t you have just refused anyway? I gave you… Incentive-”

“You pissed me off.” Mara admitted calmly, shrugging slightly as she picked up her bottle of water from the side - and tossed Ari her own. Ari caught it with ease, the both of them pausing to drink. “But that’s beside the point,” She said breathlessly between sips. “The point is that once again, I’m the outsider who you all just see as a chess piece-”

“I know Pixie’s already told you this, we didn’t know at the wedding.” Ari groaned, leaning against the wall. Mara fell silent. “Do you honestly think, with my history and what happened to me, I’d sit back and watch my brother marry you without your consent? He told me he was going to tell you how he felt, okay? He told me-”

“You must’ve known he was lying-”

“I knew something was wrong at the wedding, but I thought that was because the entire thing had been planned as a farce!” Ari said incredulously. Once again, Mara shut up. She’d spent too long wondering to not just… Let Ari say it now, without being asked. And even if it was bullshit… Mara was sick of calling out the Zafar siblings on their crap. It was much too often a fruitless exercise. “I know you think I don’t like you and it’s true I didn’t trust you in the beginning, but you spent so long away that I assumed you didn’t want to be a part of this family and I am not one to beg-”

“You think I don’t want to be a part of this family?” Mara interrupted, aghast, choosing to ignore Ari’s acknowledgement of her frankly ridiculous pride. Ari leant her head against the wall, watching as Mara struggled to find the words - more horrified at herself for saying such a thing, than anything else. Her brain struggled to keep up with her tongue. “That’s not - I blame your brother and maybe, maybe if what you’re saying is true, but -” How did she even begin to explain it? How perfect their family was, how jealous it made Mara feel? How she’d never wanted to be a part of anything more and that was why she hated Danyal so much, because pressurising her the way he had on the day of their wedding had made her feel like an imposter, like she’d always been on the outside looking in? How it all felt like a lie, a sham, a farce for Mara to even be around them?

How did she even begin to try and explain that the Zafars were everything she’d ever wanted, and everything, by proxy of being one of them now, she could never, ever have? Because whatever she was to them was out of deceit?

“But it’s what you want my brother to think.” Ari finally said, as silence filled the room. Mara pressed two fingertips to her forehead and closed her eyes.

“Your brother is an idiot.” Mara mumbled. And so am I. “The fact he’s capable of thinking at all is a minor miracle.”

When Mara opened her eyes, she was surprised to see Ari smiling slightly.

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask you.” She said sincerely. Mara nodded. She wasn’t sure how much of it she believed, but… It was nice to hear. And honestly, who else did she have to turn to? “And I’m sorry I brought your career into it. I know that you’ve worked hard to get where you are, probably to compensate for the surname and I know what that’s like, too. In fact, I’m working on a new project for that exact reason.” Ari told her, pushing herself from the wall. “And I’d like to say I wouldn’t have used that email if you’d still not agreed to help me help Sarfaraz, but in all honesty, I don’t know if that’s true.”

Mara wanted to disbelieve her. She wanted to hate her, hate another Zafar sibling, find a reason to find fault in them all. They all felt so… Inhuman, sometimes. So above reproach, so untouchable.

But there, at that moment, at a fancy gym in the early hours of the morning… Mara realised something.

They weren’t perfect. They were people. They were just incredibly flawed people, who happened to be really good at hiding it. Money did that.

And she was now one of them, too.

“Thank you for being honest.” Mara sighed. Ari nodded.

More silence.

“It’s… Complicated, with your brother, you know.” She couldn’t look at Ari. She wouldn’t. She didn’t know why she was still talking, why her brain hadn’t caught up and shut down her stupid rambling yet. Was this the effect of endorphins after so long without working out? Was her hardware malfunctioning? “I didn’t know what was going on… Then and its been so long and so now-”

“I don’t think you two are complicated.” Ari sighed, heading for the neat pile of towels in the corner - and just like that, Mara cursed herself, her brain finally alert again. Ari didn’t want to hear this. Ari didn’t care. Ari was bored two seconds in and Mara was just talking again, talking out things she couldn’t fully verbalise, and once again to another person who could only assume to understand… And then becoming frustrated at herself, for it all inevitably being misunderstood. “I think you think it’s complicated.”

Every time she did this. Every time, Mara tried to talk about it - to explain - and every time, the other person got it wrong and didn’t understand and Mara would promise herself to not try again - and then she did and the cycle continued. She knew how this went. Why couldn’t she ever just shut up?

“Maybe.” Mara shrugged, forcing down her frustration. Oh, what difference did it make now? She’d tried. Stupidly, she’d tried, because she and Ari had hugged for five seconds and now Mara was being a goddamned softie. She was tougher than this. She knew better. She should know better. “We should get going, it’s a long day.”

Ari nodded tiredly, the towel pressed to the back of her neck - and they both headed for the door.

Mara quietly let out a deep sigh.

Same shit, another day… And another Zafar.

Flawed people, Mara tried to remind herself, her heart stuttering and her stomach already twisting in knots at the thought of returning to the flat - where Dany was, sleeping soundly in his room. Incredibly, incredibly flawed people.

. . .

The two of them said their goodbyes on the street, going into their separate cars.

Mara plugged her earphones in as they drove, the city’s sky looking… Odd, in the early hours of the morning. That special, odd hour colour; too light for it to be daytime, but much too dark to be anything but that exact moment, a weird brown hue to the sky. Pressing play on the first angsty playlist she could find, she pressed her head against the cool window, feeling guilty - but not quite enough to pull away - about the small grease stains she’d likely leave on the glass from her drying sweat.

Was Ari right? Was she overly-complicating things?

TJ thought so. Mara was sure others did, too; maybe even Raj and Pixie, in the rare occasion they all discussed it. But how could Mara trust their opinion? She still didn’t know how to describe her own, which was what they were basing their information on.

She felt like she was going mad. That was another affect Dany’s presence had on her.

It had been so long since she’d been back in New York; as the second Mrs Zafar, at least. She hadn’t expected to… Fall back into it so quickly.

As skyscrapers loomed and lamp posts whizzed past, Mara tried to… Centre herself. She’d be back at the apartment within a few minutes at this rate - and she still needed to remind herself that none of it was real.

Pixie’s wedding meant playing their old game; secret meetings and constant performances. More so than before, because she’d been so absent before now. Mara had basically played herself.

Frowning slightly, Mara pulled up her pictures, swiping and scrolling until she reached the selection under 2041. She already knew what she was looking for.

At first, Mara was frustrated, unable to find it immediately and panicked that she wouldn’t find it before they reached the Richmond Building. She needed to see it before then. She needed to make up her mind.

But then, after some more careful scrolling… There it was.

From their trip to Monte Carlo, during the Christmas holidays before their wedding.

Mara remembered it like it was yesterday; like she was there. Walking down the grand staircase on her own, trying not to throw up at the thought of the crowd below - when she’d seen no sign of Danyal anywhere; how it had taken all of her energy not to trip up on the expensive, baby blue Elie Saab Pixie had picked out for her, as well as to seem calm and collected as her throat and lips had dried up from nerves. It had all felt absurd; even now it did, that she had fooled diplomats and princes, something out of a story or a TV show instead of Mara’s own life.

She’d tried to imagine herself like a princess out of a film, too, to help herself; and Mara closed her eyes as she remembered her hand trailing lightly down the smooth banister, it shaking too much for her to try and properly hold it. She’d kept her eyes trained downward, unable to fully help her self-consciousness, her hand running smoothly down the banister… And right into a waiting, warm hand.

Mara smiled slightly without meaning to, her eyes still closed, as she remembered; the surprise from feeling a hand on hers, the warmth she’d suddenly felt from looking up to find Dany’s eyes trained on hers from where he stood at the bottom of the stairs, a few steps below her. The secret smile they’d shared, her own relief, from seeing a friendly face in a crowd that had suddenly become invisible.

She swallowed slightly. That hand had stayed by her for the rest of the night; a reassuring hand on her back whenever she’d been swept away by a group of people, a light cupping of her waist whenever he’d whisper an important fact or tip in her ear, it clasped with hers as he’d gently pulled her away from Gustav so they could dance instead… And other things, too. The secret, proud wink he’d give her from across the room when her eyes nervously searched for a friend’s, the smell of his aftershave as they’d danced and he’d leant down close, whispering stupid stories about the scarier people in the room to put her at ease.

As Mara forced her eyes open and her smile faded, she also remembered how she’d gone back to that memory once before.

The day of their wedding.

Looking at the picture, she steeled herself; and there it was, the two of them smiling at each other as Dany met her at the bottom of the stairs. You couldn’t see Dany’s face. She remembered it anyway.

The car pulled to a stop - and Mara managed a quick smile as the door was held open for her, it being a different chauffeur to the one she remembered. So much had changed.

So much hadn’t.

Three years, Mara thought bitterly to herself as she made her way to the lift. Three years. We’re not the same people we were then. How were they meant to act it, meant to make it seem real, when their relationship should have grown too?

Nervous flutters began at the pit of her stomach as she watched the lift doors close in front of her, her reflection staring back at her. She had that odd sense of tiredness, the fuzziness in the corner of her eyes and the grimace of someone staring at their reflection at too harsh light during ungodly hours.

She knew what she had to do. Of course she did.

Because - and Mara couldn’t help but aggressively roll her eyes -, Dany was right. They did need to talk - and with the two of them flying out to Pakistan for Pixie’s wedding within a matter of hours, it wasn’t like they had much time left to do it.

Mara was scared - and, standing alone in the harsh light of the lift, Mara took a deep breath and forced back tears.

You’ve cried in front of him enough to last you a lifetime, she reminded herself shortly. Stop.

Mara tried to bargain with herself, as the floors ticked by on the screen above the doors. If he was awake, maybe then she’d have to tell him. Only then. Or if he’d fallen asleep watching a movie on the sofa…

But contrary to the nervous beating of her heart as she stepped out of the lift and into the penthouse, Mara knew it wouldn’t work like that. Dany wouldn’t be awake - and she closed the door of the apartment behind her and proved herself true, she hesitated, unsure as of what to do next.

The first time around, they’d had… Files. Things to learn about each other. It made sense to follow that methodology again, seeing as the result had turned out so well (too well; too convincing). But it felt… Childish, wilfully ignorant, to go back to that. To fall into the same pattern.

The apartment was eerily quiet and as Mara watched Dany’s door in the distance, she wondered what the Hell she was doing.

She’d felt trapped. She’d ended up marrying Danyal, in a way that she didn’t understand and in circumstances she didn’t understand, and then had been unable to run away as she’d wanted to because there had been nowhere to go… But the very first opportunity she’d had to separate herself from him, she had - and hadn’t looked back.

But she was here. Again. Exactly where she promised herself she’d never end up, back in London; in New York, almost three years later, playing one half of the happily married couple. She wasn’t stupid. She knew that her distance from the Zafars over the past few years would mean everyone would have questions, that her and Dany’s dynamic would have to overcompensate. She’d dug the very ditch she was now finding herself trapped in.

It was all so wrong. Truly, it was.

… So why was it that coming back to New York had felt like coming home?

Not because of her uncle or her cousins. Not because of NYU. Not even the Zafars themselves; they were all reminders of everything that had gone wrong in London, to varying degrees.

The best bet Mara had was that, the last time she’d been here, she’d been so filled with hope. She and Dany had been a team. She’d been planning her future, filled with adventure and naivety and, most importantly, escape of all of the bullshit following her. Not feeling - being - loved. Being other people’s charity. Being a keeper of other people’s secrets, but being able to have none of her own.

Pushing herself off of the door with a sigh, Mara rolled her eyes. That had worked out so well.

“Don’t think about it.” Mara whispered to herself, taking a deep breath… And walking purposefully towards Danyal’s bedroom. Even her whispers sounded oddly loud in the darkness.

For a moment, her fist hovered over the door - and it uncurled, ready to fall by her side as she turned away in defeat.

She knocked lightly on the door three times instead.

. . .

When Dany woke up to find Mara standing over him, flushed and watching him sleep, he thought he was dreaming.

It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d dreamt of her; standing and watching him in the dark, yes, but certainly not in a room with a bed. Usually…

Urgh. The two of them alone, in the dark, usually near a bed. Did it really need further explaining?

“I’m sorry.” Samara muttered, feeling herself flush slightly as Dany blinked up at her, sensing her presence. “I tried knocking, but…” She motioned to where he slept.

Dany quickly sat up, squinting at his clock. Almost half three in the morning.

“I’m sorry to wake you, but I wasn’t sure we’d have time before our flight, so…” Mara sighed, feeling… Stupid. She was grateful that there were no lights on; she’d caught enough of a glimpse of Danyal’s bare shoulders in the dark and that was all she wanted to know, thanks. “Look, I only just got back-”

“Got back?” Dany repeated blearily. “From where?”

“The gym.” She replied shortly. “I need to shower, but I, um - I need you - you should probably be awake for this to be an actual conversation, so can you try and wake up while I shower?”

Although Dany wanted to ask - what was wrong? Was it an emergency? Was everything okay? -, seeing the nervousness on Samara’s face… He decided to play it all a bit more carefully.

“Yes, of course I can.” He muttered, rubbing his eyes as he sat upright. “Do you want me to wait here, or -?”

“Here’s fine.” Mara nodded. “I’ll be around ten minutes. Don’t fall back asleep… Please.”

Dany nodded, watching as Mara left. She didn’t shut the door behind her.

. . .

Twenty minutes later and Dany was wide awake, playing Tetris 4 on his phone and wondering whether it had all been some sort of elaborate dream. His only source of light came from his bedside lamp and his phone screen and, propped up on pillows against the headrest, Dany sat with the duvet tucked up to his stomach.

As much as he wished he could hope for something… Positive, Dany wasn’t stupid enough to believe that they’d soon be living out one of his frustrating dreams. In fact, if anything, Dany was concerned; was this Samara telling him that Ari’s blackmail be damned, she wouldn’t pretend for Pixie’s wedding? He’d thought about it a lot since the two days had passed. Why would Samara be so willing to be blackmailed by Ari, when, if she was serious about wanting out of this situation eventually, it shouldn’t matter?

Her career, Dany reminded himself unhappily. That had been the only reason Samara had paid attention, whether he tried to ignore that fact or not.

Nothing positive was going to come out of a random meeting at almost four in the morning.

… At least, that was Dany kept telling himself; until Mara walked in.

Her hair was tied, still wet, in a bun atop her head; and Dany let his phone bleep furiously as he failed his level, seeing she wore nothing but a pair of grey furry slippers… And a short, silk gown of ivory with lace in the sleeves.

“Sorry for the wait.” Samara murmured. She’d told herself the gown was for practicality, but that hadn’t stopped her heart from stuttering upon walking into Dany’s room in it. “Can you sit this way? I need to show you something.”

Dany found himself incapable of words. Instead, hastily shoving his phone on silent and setting it aside, he turned, sitting on the edge of the bed and facing her.

Mara purposefully wouldn’t look at him - not as he’d moved, not as he’d sat to reveal he was sleeping in (seriously?) grey Moschino sweats with teddy bears all over them and not much else - and certainly not as, to get close enough for the light of the lamp to be of use, she automatically stepped in the space between his legs.

What was she doing? This could have waited. There was something… Supremely dangerous about doing this now, having an actual conversation after so long of dodging now, at an odd hour of the morning with the two of them barely dressed, in Danyal’s bedroom. The bedroom that everyone still assumed was shared - at least, whenever Samara was in the city long enough to need a bed.

But knowing that was… Logical. In reality, there wasn’t much odd about it at all - if anything, Mara and Dany had found themselves in various states of undress around each other before and it was that, the recognition that this was nothing in their long and complex history of pretending, that sat uncomfortably in Mara’s throat as she gently pulled on the knot of her gown.

Danyal didn’t know where to look; at how Mara’s hands gently pulled on the silk gown, fidgeting so that it fell open in smooth lines, or up at her, her face giving nothing away.

This was wrong. He had to stop it. They hadn’t… Talked. They had to talk.

… Didn’t they?

Not talking was still… Communicating. It was something, at least and she was standing in front of him, undressing - Dany gulped as he glanced at her body, in a white set of Calvin Kleins -, her skin smooth and…

Dany stopped, blinking - and then again, when his eyes didn’t correct themselves. Once more, as he peered, unthinkingly putting his hand on Mara’s waist and pulling it close to prove himself wrong.

Mara blanched slightly at the movement, her free hand catching Danyal’s shoulder to steady herself, the other still keeping her dressing gown out of Dany’s view.

“What the-”

“They’re surgical scars. I donated one of my kidneys about a month ago.” Mara mumbled, looking up at the artwork on the wall opposite her. She frowned. It seemed… Familiar. Forgetting to not grip Danyal’s shoulder too tight, she clutched on as Dany continued to peer at her abdomen, apparently speechless. “Is that - is that from the museum? One of the pieces from the gallery where we - at the V&A?” She quickly corrected. Where we had our registration brunch.

Surely not. Surely not. It was a… Museum piece, and whilst it dominated the tall wall that Mara now faced… Maybe it was a trick of the dark.

But the couple twisted in a passionate kiss, ignoring the carved crowd around them… Mara could have sworn she’d recognise it anywhere.

“How many scars are there?”

Dragging her eyes away, Mara tried to refocus. She probably didn’t want to know why Dany possibly had the original art piece in his bedroom. There wasn’t really a right answer.

“Three.” Mara said, grateful for the distraction. Unthinkingly, she rest her knee gently over Danyal’s thigh for balance. She pointed. “One,” she said, motioning to a small, dark line a few centimetres down from the Calvin strap of her bra. “Two-” she motioned to a line of the same length another few centimetres down, underneath her belly button. “- and three, which is still feeling a little bit uncomfortable.” Shifting her balance slightly again, Mara felt herself flush as she pulled down - very carefully - the logo on her panties, showing a longer scar than before, at the bottom of her stomach, right above her pelvis.

Mara went to tie the gown back up - but Dany immediately swatted her away, pulling her closer. Mara stared up at the ceiling, gritting her teeth slightly as she felt Danyal’s warm breath hover over the first two scars.

“You did this under our medical insurance?” Dany asked, staring intently at them. Mara nodded, before realising he was paying her face little attention.

“Yes, I hope that’s okay-”

“Of course it is, what is likely to not be okay is that you would have had to name a next of kin on your medical forms.” Dany said coldly. Here we go. Mara pulled away, tying the gown back up. “Is that why you’re showing me? Because I’m already meant to know? Who the Hell was important enough for you to give a kidney to?”

Mara said nothing, pulling away to tie the gown.

“Samara.” Dany groaned loudly - and this was happening now, really happening, because this was something they both knew. Arguing. Sniping at each other, making sarcastic little comments - and it was scary.

It was! How were they falling back into routine so quickly? How was it even possible?

That was another answer Mara probably didn’t want.

“My dad.” Mara mumbled, ignoring how Danyal immediately made a sound of disgust. “Look, I came in here to fill you in - in - in case anyone asks questions at Pixie’s wedding, which they will-”

“You went to have transplant surgery without telling me, so you could help your absentee father?” Danyal repeated, shaking his head as if to brush off her reply. “And you said one of the scars is feeling uncomfortable - have you had that seen to?”

Mara felt an uncomfortable sense of… Normalcy in her irritation. It was just like the old days. Danyal always knowing better, irrespective of whether or not he had any knowledge on the subject.

A certain wedding came to mind as an example.

“And how would you know if he’s been an absentee father, or are you talking from experience as an absentee husband?” Mara mumbled, not bothering to say it sweetly as she once may have.

“Because you gave me such a choice.” Dany shot back, rising to his feet.

And as much as Mara wanted to have an answer ready… There wasn’t one.

There wasn’t enough distance between them for Mara to do anything but look down at her slippers - and Dany’s stupid pyjama bottoms - in guilt.

He smelt good. Clean. Naturally good and clean, not doused in aftershave. She could smell it from where she stood, and the skin of his shoulder had felt smooth and soft underneath her fingers. These weren’t details Samara wanted to know, not at nearly four am in a dark bedroom, standing in her underwear and with him shirtless.

And holy shit, there it was.

She’d felt this feeling before. A million times over - and she’d tried to ignore it, a million times over. Successfully, too. Certainly if only now was she realising how stupid an idea that had been.

She had feelings for Danyal.

Of course, that wasn’t necessarily new. Mara had… Had a hunch for a while now, however uncomfortable it was to admit. It was partly why she’d avoided him for so long. Like he’d said that night - God, that night, Mara’s head hurt even acknowledging it as a moment in time -, the night of their wedding night - she’d wanted it. Or, words to that effect. That’s what he’d meant, okay? That was the part Mara remembered, all of the insufferable little details.

That was what felt like home. Not feeling hopeful the last time she’d been in New York for more than a few days; but being with him, wherever that was. Knowing she could look at him from across a room and he’d know what she was thinking. That… Chemistry, for a lack of a better term, simmering away underneath the surface and lacing every action and every word. Enjoying how, even when they argued, he was always one step ahead and she had to push herself to keep up, when ordinarily, for Samara, it was the other way around.

Knowing, despite that, she was with someone with whom it was safe to make mistakes.

It was wrong. And screwed up. And stupid. Mara didn’t want this. She’d fought it for so long. She’d only come back because… Well, just like before, because she’d run out of places to go and hide.

But also because he’d given her space and she didn’t want anymore space. She didn’t want to be more alone. She’d missed Kabir and the rest of the Zafars, even if it felt like she was pulling herself over hot coals every time she uttered another lie in front of Danyal’s parents. But that was better than what she’d felt with her own parents, stupidly thinking that, with something as extreme as a kidney donation, it would pull them closer together.

She realised now; in the few days it had taken for her family to return to its heightened level of toxicity after the op, somewhere in the back of her evil, scheming subconscious that she already did not trust, she’d made up her mind. To come back.

To come home.

No. None of this was right, none of this was… Acceptable. She didn’t understand these feelings. They were too complicated and so much time had passed since the wedding.

But nothing else made sense.

Because the moment Danyal had pulled her close to stare at those scars like touching her was nothing, the second he’d showed concern, something inside of her had felt warm - for the first time in what felt like… Well. Three years.

She hoped it was loneliness. It was still… Humiliating, but it was better than the alternative; that Mara genuinely had feelings for Danyal, that he’d been right to trap her into that scenario on their wedding day. That her saying she consented to their marriage was less of a mistake than she’d tried to convince herself it was, out of what was probably stubbornness.

No. Nooo! This was… This was so far from what she wanted. It was so… Stupid. There was no happy ending. There was no way this worked out, she wouldn’t let it. She was just… Looking for intimacy, trying to find something to distract herself from yet another rejection. That was pathetic enough in itself! Shouldn’t she be used to it by now?

“I didn’t come in here to fight with you.” Mara said softly, deciding the rest was… Best kept in a box inside of her head, for now. A box inside of her head, tightly sealed. And chained. And then thrown into the depths of an ocean until she got her shit together. “I came in here because-”

“Because as much as I’ve tried to have an actual conversation with you since you arrived, it’s only because there’s something wrong and I’m going to find out anyway that you’re bothering.” Danyal interrupted, his eyes narrowing. Mara gulped slightly. She’d forgotten how… Intimidating it could be. Not in a way that made her scared for herself in any way, more scared of the… Feelings he would invoke. And that was without the shitty revelations coming in at awkward moments. Danyal sighed, shaking his head. “Even after everything, Mara, I thought you’d still come to me when it was serious.”

She wanted to tell him off. To tell him to not call her Mara again, not when it’d been so long, him saying it when it was just the two of them.

But she didn’t want to.

Christ on a stick, this had been a mistake.

“I didn’t know if you’d come-” She lied - and stopped, as Danyal shrugged past her to stand by the dresser, instead. That was bullshit. She’d known he’d have come. She’d somehow known, but convinced herself she didn’t, that after missing one phone call in the lead up to their wedding and missing so much… He’d never do it again. She hadn’t wanted to be right. So she just hadn’t given him the chance. She watched his back as he went through his drawers. “What are you doing?”

“Taking you to the hospital - and please, cut out the dramatics.” Dany muttered.

Her heart sank - and thank fuck for her natural defences, because that immediately made her angry. Who was he to make her feel guilty? It was her body, it was her decision to look after it - or put it at risk - as she pleased. And what dramatics?

“You are being so abrasive-”

Dany slammed the drawers shut so hard, the resulting bang made Mara jump.

“What changed?” Dany asked, the muscles in his back rippling as he gripped the furniture. Mara said nothing. “I have spent days trying to get your attention and all of a sudden-”

“I was talking to Ari at the gym-”

“When at the gym-” Mara’s eyes widened as Dany stopped. Oh, no. Oh, no… Dany turned, eyes sparkling, jaw clenched in anger. “You’ve been going to the gym?”

“I’ve been careful.” She said quickly. Why was she doing that? She didn’t need to justify herself. What she needed to do was making a scathing remark about Danyal’s ‘dramatics’. “Just - look, none of that is what I came in here for-”

“Then what did you come in here for?”

“To make a plan.” Mara said resolutely - and she was proud, because it sounded a lot more convincing than it had in her head. “Pixie’s wedding. I am still… So angry at you, but I am willing to put that aside for our flight today-”

“If we fly today.” Danyal immediately corrected. Mara, once again, shut up; which wasn’t exactly in her nature, but, watching silently as Dany stormed past her again to sit on the edge of the bed and put on some socks, she felt like she didn’t have much of a choice. “We’re getting those scars checked and for all we know, because you’re too proud to ask for help when you should, you’ve put yourself at risk-”

“What difference does it make to you if I did?”

Mara couldn’t understand it when Danyal stiffened.

But he did. He understood everything, all at once; and as much as he tried to hide it, (and did, quite successfully, too) even the slightest possibility of it being true had him stunned.

It was the way she’d said it; and although Dany knew Samara would have wanted to sound nonchalant and unaffected, as always, that wasn’t how she’d sounded. She’d sounded insecure and unsure. Curious.

She’d sounded the way he’d felt, when he’d began to understand, before the wedding - the last time they’d spent this much time together -, that he didn’t want to lose her.

Slowly unfreezing to finish putting on his socks, Mara watched with knitted eyebrows as Danyal stood seriously in front of her, his face suddenly cold and detached.

She shifted slightly, unsure of where to go, as he stood… Inches, less, away.

They were in the dark, in a bedroom, in the early hours of the morning during which nothing felt real.

Would I try to stop him if he tried to kiss me?

It terrified her that the resounding no she heard as a reply in her mind… Took so long to hear.

“If this is what you decided we needed to go through for you to hear me tell you I love you again, then maybe you should have listened the first time I tried to say it.”

… Oh shit, nothing had prepared her for that.

“I - I - you - I’m sorry, I- that is not-” Words, she needed to say words, she needed to hear words being said back so she’d say more, anything to distract her from what she’d just heard because -

I love you. Present tense.

“Go and get dressed, we’re leaving in the next ten minutes.” Danyal told her quietly, the dark shadow lining the bottom of his jaw making him seem… Rougher, more serious, in the dim light of the lamp. She’d never seen him like this before. Certainly not whilst also shirtless and in teddy bear bottoms.

Any distraction.

I love you.

“Again.” Mara repeated and oh, no, no, no thank you, distractions did not come from confronting the issue and how did this happen to her? Every time? How did, every single bloody damn time, she find herself in the middle of an ongoing shitstorm just as she noticed there was actually a storm in the first place? No. No. Three years apart should have been long enough for Danyal to not… Know things about her anymore. Was her epiphany really that obvious? That blatant? No, no, no, she forbade herself - yes, she forbade herself from taking the topic any further, so there - “You said again, but I never heard it a first time.”

She was such an asshole. To herself.

Dark bedrooms with shirtless boys with trouble tattooed across their forehead in her handwriting; note to self. Avoid.

Wow. Wow, she felt sick. Her heart was beating in her throat and her stomach hurt and it was terrifying because two seconds ago, she’d just accepted that being with Danyal - however fucked up it was - made her feel less rejected so why was she actively seeking rejection now?!

“You would have heard it a million times over by now if you’d have listened. If you hadn’t been too stubborn to admit I was right.”

She didn’t have to ask what he was talking about.

“I never said - I never said you were right -”

He glanced at her over his shoulder - and maybe it was the dim lighting again. Except it wasn’t. But she wanted to believe it was, that the childlike expression suddenly on Dany’s face, the sorrow in his eyes and the sadness in how his shoulders sagged… It wasn’t her doing.

“You should have called me about the operation.” Was his only reply. “Now go and get dressed-”

The entire situation was spiralling massively out of control and honestly, Mara couldn’t quite believe how. Especially so quickly.

“I am not going to the hospital-”

“Samara,” Dany’s voice rang through the silence of the rest of the room, loud with authority. Once again, Mara shut up. This was yet another thing that was new - and once again, she was irritated because a), being irritated was a lot easier than dealing whatever the fuck else was going on and b), how was it that Dany seemed to have changed so much and she seemed to be exactly the same? He was reading her like a book and she couldn’t even open the damned cover. “You can either get dressed now and walk with me down to the car, or I can carry you downstairs as you are, but you are going to the hospital, whether you waste my time arguing or not.”

Outrage, hot and fast, ran over her - and she was grateful. Because just like that, the rest of their conversation no longer existed.

How dare he? She wasn’t a child. She wasn’t some moron incapable of making her own decisions, just because they were decisions he wouldn’t necessarily make. He wasn’t some kind of… Paternal figure. He was her husband, but realistically a super distant boyfriend at best, how dare he patronise her like that? Him, of all people? With his choices?

“Danyal Zafar, if you think for one second that you can - command me like-”

“I swear to fucking God-”

Mara yelped as Dany immediately went to grab her legs from under her, his hand automatically wrapping carefully around her stomach so as to avoid the scars.

She’d never seen Dany like this before. So angry, so upset, so… Hurt.

“Danyal, Dany, I’ll - I’ll go, stop, stop!” She shrieked, her stomach fluttering - and not from pain -, her fussing hands automatically falling to rest on Danyal’s bare stomach… And even though Dany just looked frustrated and not much else, Mara didn’t. Mara felt everything shifting between them again, just when she’d finally begun to understand what they’d just had. “I’m… Sorry, I’ll go and get dressed now.”

She wasn’t apologising for being abrasive and she hoped he knew that; she wouldn’t know how to explain it once she left that stupid room. She wouldn’t want to.

Her fingertips, ignoring her brain telling them to back the fuck off, lingered on the smooth, inverted line in the middle of his chest.

“I’ll meet you in a few minutes.” He muttered gruffly, before pulling away.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

#aag #modosphere #goodnight

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joonbird · 7 years

Text

Remedy

Some people you just can’t let go of. For you, that person is Min Yoongi. You’re holding onto him, even though you know you shouldn’t. He’s breaking you apart. But no matter how hard you try, you can’t walk away.

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: angst

wordcount: 4k

warning: elements of an emotionally toxic relationship

It always starts suddenly, and from something tiny and unimportant.

Something small, like when Mark from work sent you a work related text that ended with a casual ‘xo’. Or the time that you asked him to spend more time with you, only to be told you were being ‘too clingy’.

It was always something unimportant. Something small that quickly snowballed into a monstrosity. A passing sentence or action that morphed into an argument that lasted weeks. A tiny seed of something so small you never knew what would trigger a fight and what wouldn’t. That was how it always began with Yoongi.

Tonight, as expected, it started from something small. It had been an uneventful night, Yoongi had gotten in late from work and you had been watching him eat his dinner, unsure of how to approach him.

He was tired, irritable, and you had done your best to coax him out of his stormy mood. You were trying to do so by being a caricature of yourself, all flirty smiles and shoulder massages. Each time you touched him, he shrugged you off and stared moodily at the wall, blocking you out. He made it clear that he didn’t want you in his space, at all.

You were used to it by now from Yoongi. Your justifications for his moodiness were automatic. He was a tortured artist, a typical musician, as you told your friends.

Yoongi had recently gotten a huge knockback from a recording label. He had poured his heart and soul into an album, only to have it carelessly tossed aside by heartless executives and CEOs. They couldn’t care less about all the tears and emotions that had gone into the 11 songs he had written. Yoongi’s pride had taken a beating and it hadn’t helped that his childhood friend and sometime rival, Kim Namjoon, had just signed a record deal with that exact same company. Yoongi hadn’t mentioned it, but you could tell by the broodiness that had lingered within him during the last month, that it was weighing heavily on his mind. You tried to put yourself in Yoongi’s shoes- working 70 hour weeks, creatively stifled and recovering from the sting of blatant rejection, while his friend effortlessly got exactly what Yoongi had so badly craved for himself.

Yoongi was a complicated man to begin with, before all this had happened with his music career. He was layered, complex- he lived in his music and dwelled within a world of lyrics and harmonies half of the time. That was one of the things that had initially drawn you to Yoongi. He was passionate when you first met him, and confident. He told you he was going to succeed with such self-assurance that you never questioned it. So when he failed, it had been a shock to the system, to yours and his, like a bucket of cold ice drenching everything in its path.

Yoongi had funnelled so much money and effort into establishing his music career, and now, he was deep in debt. He was fatigued, worked to the bone to pay off all of his investments. Yoongi he let out all his frustrations, his hurt, his bitterness and exhaustion, onto your relationship. All he knew now was his work, and all he loved before you was his music. And that love of his had betrayed him.

You knew all this, and you chanted it to yourself in moments when you felt fragile, so paper thin and painfully lonely, that you almost couldn’t bear it. You told yourself in moments of weakness and doubt that Yoongi had gone through bad times. Yoongi was going through a tough time but it wasn’t permanent. It was going to get better, it had to. It was such a familiar mantra to you now that you found yourself muttering it constantly throughout the day. It was going to get better, it had to.

You squared your shoulders and smiled at Yoongi now, he didn’t smile back, looking at something on his phone.

“So how was your day?”

Yoongi shrugged.

“The same.”

He was in a mood tonight. You wanted to lighten him up. You walked over to him, the beginnings of a lighthearted smile forming on your lips. You could do it, you could ease him out of this mood, bring the lightness back into the man you loved. It was in there in him somewhere still, you were sure.

“I wanna take a nap or something.” Yoongi added, stretching out and yawning. You watched him fondly.

“You’re such a lazy bones,” You teased.

Yoongi just lifted his eyes, staring at you coldly.

“Excuse me?” He was annoyed, you could tell by the way his jaw clenched and you felt a ripple of regret run through your body. “What are you trying to say? I don’t see you working every God damn day of the week.”

“It was just a joke,” You said slowly. “Sorry, I didn’t-”

“God Y/N, you’re a fucking bitch sometimes, you know that?”

You stood there, frozen. You didn’t know how to respond or how to react when he was like this, angry, bitter, wanting to hurt you as badly as he was hurting inside. This had become a pattern for you and Yoongi, while at first you had fought back to his words, yelling back, crying, shouting until your voice was raw, you had quickly learned the fights passed quicker when you were impassive. Your non responses always aggravated him more at the start, but he quickly ran out of steam and would storm out, leaving you to pick up the pieces.

You were silent, your body quivering. And you felt it flash through your mind. Anger, a weary and diluted anger, directed at yourself, at Yoongi, at everything.

You had never felt like more of an imposter in your life. For someone who was so assured in the past that she was confident and strong, you were undoubtedly a sham. You were dislocated from all the parts of yourself that had rooted you to the earth and to what made you, well, you, and you didn’t know how to get back there to that place of stability. You didn’t know how to feel whole again. In fact, sometimes you were convinced that you were going to die exactly how you were born, alone and overwhelmed by the world around you, still not understanding what was going on, or how had gotten there, here.

You didn’t know how to articulate your thoughts to him. Your own mind was a jumbled mess of threads and incoherent thoughts. Yoongi just stared at you with wide, unforgiving eyes and you felt an invisible chokehold latch around your throat. You couldn’t communicate. All you knew, was that you felt it all, you felt too much, you loved too much, you hurt too much. Your heart was crammed to the brim with intensity and you were telling yourself surely it wasn’t just you, who was feeling the loneliness and the resentment and the self-loathing? Surely, it wasn’t just you who was feeling all of this sadness right down into the very core of your body? Maybe if you just talked to Yoongi, things would get better. The old him had to be in there somewhere, and you could draw him out again, you just had to figure out how…

“Are you just going to fucking stand there?” Yoongi hissed and you couldn’t help it, a shocked laugh came out of your lips. Nothing about this situation was remotely funny but you laughed. It was a foreign laugh that fell out of your mouth and hung in the air for a split second before Yoongi stepped towards you.

“Why the hell are you laughing? Do you think this is funny?” He asked in a low, angry voice. “You’re always so condescending to me,” He continued on, his voice rising as he began to fall into a tangent of his own. “You think you’re better than me, you talk down to me like I’m some God damn loser…” He was snarling out his words now and you felt your chest start to ache. Why was this happening? Why were you fighting, again?

“Fuck you Y/N,” he snapped out, his words coming out like venom.

You didn’t know how he could be like this, how he stared at you with flat eyes and no recognition, like he didn’t know who you were. How was this the same person who just a few months ago was laughing and holding his stomach while the two of you sat on the couch, the same person who tenderly brushed your hair away from your eyes and hummed songs to you?

You felt like you were in a war with yourself and with Yoongi and you were sick of losing, no matter how hard you fought. You felt your body give up, tired of resisting.

“I… I’m sorry-” You stammered out, hating the words, hating your weak apology and how easily you crumbled under his icy stare.

“Shut up,” Yoongi interrupted.

Something snapped in you like a twig under a foot. You stared at him and felt your mouth go dry.

“Yoongi…” Your voice trailed off. “This isn’t… this isn’t working. I think maybe we should… we should break up.”

You weren’t even sure if you meant the words that were coming out of your mouth. But you just wanted him to stop staring at you like that, you wanted him to empathise, to realize how badly he was hurting you. You wanted him to take you seriously, to stop assuming you would absorb all of his anger like a lifeless sponge.

Yoongi’s jaw dropped and then he reached over, picking up a photo frame that was sitting by the kitchen counter. A photo of the two of you, an old one, a low quality polaroid photo that his friend Jin had taken at a Christmas party two years ago. He threw it, and you screamed, as the photo frame whizzed past you and shattered against the wall.

Your entire body was coiled and tensed as you cowered, staring in shock at the floor. Splintered glass was everywhere and the only noise you were aware of was your pounding heart. Yoongi’s eyes widened and he strode towards you.

“Y/N,” he said your voice in a low tone, reaching out for you.

You flinched.

And his entire face crumpled.

“Fuck,” He whispered. He started to cry, fat tears rolling down his cheeks as he stood in front of you, his arms hovering.

You realized with a sudden sharp clarity that you hadn’t taken a proper breath, you gasped in and you were acutely aware of everything. Of how hard and fast your heart was beating, of the splinters of glass littered all over the floor, and of Yoongi staring at you, his face broken.

You acted on instinct, something inside of you switched on, reached out and took over. You were grateful for it because your thoughts were just an indecipherable mess. You didn’t speak as you stood up and walked out of your apartment.

You called the first person that came to mind. You were shaking violently as the dial tone rang in your ear, your teeth chattering. It wasn’t even cold outside but you felt strange in your own skin, frantic and uncertain.

“Hello? Y/N?” Your best friend Laura picked up. You opened your mouth to say something, say anything, but words failed you. You just let out a cry, a strange, garbled sound.

“Oh my… fuck. Are you… what’s…” Laura stammered out in panic.

“I think I just broke up with Yoongi.”

Oh God. Realization ebbed through your body as you heard your own words through the line. This was real. This was really happening. There was no turning back now. You were on the phone to your best friend, telling her you had broken up with your boyfriend. This was it. You stared up at your apartment building, wondering what Yoongi was doing, the image of his face, raw and upset, darting through your thoughts.

A silence carried across the line before Laura’s voice came rushing through, businesslike.

“Okay. I… okay. Come over. Now. Get in a cab.”

If it was any other situation you would’ve told her that she was being a bossy bitch, but all you could do was nod, you nodded over and over, biting your lip to stop yourself from letting out another sob.

“Y/N, you’re not saying anything.”

“Okay, okay I… I’m on my way.” You said quickly, holding up a hand to call a taxi. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

You were sitting cross legged on Laura’s couch, a cup of hot tea in your hands.

You had barrelled into Laura’s apartment an hour ago and promptly started to sob. After holding you and letting you cry it out, Laura had busily sat you down and brought out tissues, tea, and then sat herself opposite you, her eyes latched on you. You had sat there, not drinking the tea, lost in your thoughts.

Neither of you had spoken, and you were grateful for that, for Laura understanding inherently that you needed silence. You were still absorbing everything, and the echo of the broken glass next to you was still fresh in your mind.

“I don’t want to be here.” You whispered in a faint voice. Laura’s eyes snapped up at you in worry and you hastened to fill in the blanks. “Not like that, I…” Your words cut off as you fumbled with your fingers. “I just don’t want to be anything right now. I’m so tired.” You laughed humourlessly, realizing the honesty behind your words. You were so exhausted you could feel it in every cell of your body.

“God, he’s so fucked up.” Laura said evenly, quietly. You felt a twinge in your bones as you shifted in your seat. “No, he…” Your voice trailed off. He’s a good guy, I love him, it was my fault, he’s my other half, he understands me, I understand him, love isn’t easy… the usual tirade of excuses filtered through your head and you sat there, blinking. You were being defensive over him, and you didn’t even know why.

“He’s not good for you Y/N.”

You let out a shaky breath. You knew she was right, but you couldn’t meet her gaze, just staring down at the floor. You focused your eyes on a small stain on Laura’s carpet, trying to distract yourself from thinking properly. You knew she was right, Yoongi wasn’t good for you. He was bringing darkness into corners of your life that had never been dark before. But you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting him, from craving him. You loved him. Or maybe you didn’t, and maybe you were just a masochist, someone programmed to need someone that they could never fully have. Either way, you were fucked.

Your resolve crumbled and you felt your face crumple as a hot, choked cry rose in your throat.

Laura just curled her arm around you and held you comfortingly but you sat there, stiff, feeling the awful, hot feeling of tears rising in your chest.

“He’s not good to you, Y/N. He doesn’t appreciate you. How he treats you, how he talks to you, that isn’t right. I don’t like him Y/N, you know that. And I don’t like seeing you like this. I don’t even know how long I’ve seen you like this but I just… I can’t watch it happen any longer.” Laura’s voice trailed off. You knew she meant her words, she had never liked Yoongi from the start and it had ben a sore point in both your friendship with Laura and your relationship with Yoongi. Laura had quickly realized that telling you she didn’t like him, persuading you to break up with him just made you more distant, so she had stopped. You had assumed she just gave up and it wasn’t on her mind anymore. You had no idea she was still thinking about him and you.

“I’ve been okay,” You insisted, she just stared at you.

“No,” She said slowly. “You haven’t. You’ve been like a shell, Y/N.”

Her words hit you like a tonne of bricks. This entire time, you had thought that you were good, you were coping. Hiding everything from everyone. A new round of tears rolled down your face as Laura reached out and curled her hand around yours, giving your hand a long squeeze.

“I’m your best friend,” She said in a low, fierce voice. “And I… seeing you like this…” Her voice cracked as she stared at you evenly, her dark eyes filling up with tears. “It fucking breaks my heart Y/N.”

You felt a new wave of emotions wash over you. Guilt mixed with resistance at her words. And of course frustration, directed at yourself. You were hurting people you cared about.

Why were you doing this? This wasn’t you. You had never imagined this in the landscape of your life, falling in love with a broken man who would in turn break you. When you had been younger, you had always imagined that matters of love were filled with black and white, stereotypical ups and downs. You had never thought this would be you, the girl sitting on her best friend’s couch, only holding it together thanks to a cup of hot tea.

This wasn’t supposed to be you. This wasn’t you. You were angry at yourself for everything, for starting the fight in the first place, and then for thinking that the fight was remotely your fault. You were angry at yourself for letting a man treat you like this, and worst of all, for still wanting him. And you were angry at Yoongi, for everything, for every little splinter of pain and hurt he had inflicted, that was still wedged under your skin. Yet even through the anger you loved him. You told yourself fiercely that it wasn’t you talking, the side of yourself that even now was saying that Yoongi was going through hardships, that true love meant persisting through dark times. This couldn’t be you.

Laura was still staring up at you, her eyes teary and full of concern. You wondered how much she had stressed over this, over you, and you felt your heart twist in yet another painful way. This was real. This had really happened. There was no turning back now. It was almost laughable, that everything had happened tonight just because you had teased Yoongi about being lazy.

“God.” You whispered. “I just… how am I ever supposed to move on?”

Yoongi had been your life for the last four years. He was there, interlaced so finely in the details of your life. Everywhere you went contained memories of him. It felt like every second thought in your head had his presence involved somehow. How were you going to be able to do this?

“You can do it,” Laura said firmly. “You’re so strong Y/N, and it’s so hard at the start, but you can get through it…” No I can’t. You zoned out and stared at her as she talked on. You couldn’t. Tears were coming down your face faster than before and you were slowly starting to breathe in sharper and faster breaths of air.

“Y/N…” Laura leaned over and placed a palm on your wrist tentatively. “It’s okay, you can cry if you need to.”

You hated that sentence, you hated that you were here, crying. You shook your head furiously, coughing and glancing up.

“I’m okay. Laura I… I’m exhausted. I just want to sleep.”

Laura just stared at you intently. “Okay,” She said slowly. “Sleep here. On my bed. I can sleep on the couch. I’m not taking anything else but ‘Okay’ as an answer, by the way.”

You felt your chest swell with another fresh batch of emotions as you nodded, managing a small smile at her. You stood up and padded to her room, Laura followed you closely, hesitating at the door frame before she spoke.

“Don’t say anything, go to sleep, rest… just… just please, Y/N. I mean it. Don’t go back to him. Stay away. Please.” Her eyes softened and you realized she was pleading with you.

“I won’t,” You said quietly. “I just…” Your words died off and you couldn’t look at her. You just shook your head, once, twice, until it was just bobbing up and down as if it was broken.

“You’re so strong. You can do this.” She said softly and you felt like an imposter. You weren’t strong at all.

You walked over to your best friend’s bed and slid inside. It felt cold and unfamiliar but you still settled down, as Laura switched off the light. You lay there, wide awake, your thoughts racing painfully as you listened to the sounds outside your room, of your friend getting ready to sleep as well.

You didn’t know how long you lay there, but time stretched out and you couldn’t go to sleep. If anything, you felt more awake than ever.

Surely, this wasn’t the end of you and Yoongi. Not like this, without proper closure, proper communication. You and Yoongi, what you shared, was a love, a great love, and it couldn’t be over with a smashed glass and no real words.

You could go to Yoongi now.

Not to do anything, but… to talk. To tell him to his face that it was over between the two of you.

You sat up in bed. You were vaguely aware of what you were doing, frantically negotiating with yourself, but you pushed down those logical thoughts and slowly swung your legs over the bed.

You crept out into the living room, your eyes falling on Laura. She was draped over the couch, snoring softly. You hesitated. You could go back to sleep, talk to him tomorrow, or not at all.

You stood there like a frozen puppet. Torn between going to him, or staying here. Your heart was racing so fast you could hear it in your chest.

And you made your decision.

You stepped into his bedroom and saw him lying there.

Your heart gave out. It felt like it had been tipped onto the floor, it was a slippery mess.

Whatever shreds of resolve you had floated away the minute you saw him lying there. You walked towards him.

Each step was like a stamp, and you could hear your own voice in your head, Laura’s voice, saying stop, don’t, don’t, don’t.

But you couldn’t stop yourself.

You unwrapped the covers and slid in beside him.

He lay still and you nestled into him. You didn’t touch him, you just lay there.

Yoongi shifted, he didn’t speak, he just tugged you into his arms carefully.

And you lay there, ignoring the stirrings of guilt, as once again you were drawn back into his embrace.

#yoongi angst #bts angst #yoongi fanfic #bts fanfic #suga angst #suga fanfic #yoongi x reader

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